


Never Ever Tell

by Lilachigh



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 37,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilachigh/pseuds/Lilachigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We have seen the official times when Buffy and Spike spent time together, but what of the times they didn't want us to know about?   These little snippets record those moments.  You can believe them or not.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning....

Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh

They come in all sizes!

The Narlexa demons had caught Buffy at the end of her patrol - three of them had been living in the woods - just as Giles had warned her. She’d killed two but the third managed to swipe her with his claws, raking bloody channels down her arm and leg before she dispatched it.

"Oh great," she muttered crossly as she limped through the trees towards town, dripping blood as she went. “It’ll be all glasses-cleaning and tutting and, ‘I told you so-ey’ and ‘why didn’t you wait to catch them one by one like we planned?’ and Mom will freak at the blood - I’ll say I fell down some steps - and I’ve got that big maths test tomorrow and - oh!"

She heard them before she saw them. Laughter and splashing. The hairs on the back of her neck wriggled - vampires! She crept forward through the trees, towards the lake. The moon was full and the little sandy beach was silvered in its light. A black haired girl was dancing on the sand, running in and out of the water, her white dress clinging to her legs. She was laughing. "Come on in, lover, the water’s beuuutifully cold and full of little silver fish and stars."

The man was standing, hands on hips watching her. He’d stripped to the waist and in the moonlight his skin gleamed white.

Buffy bit back a squeak. It was the new vamp, Spike, the one she’d fought with at school. And he was with what had to be a girl friend.  She swore a word she hadn’t known she knew. If she hadn’t been injured, she could have dusted both of them without drawing breath, but knew that in her present condition she didn’t dare tackle them.

She realised she’d been standing staring at the slim muscled back and platinum curls for far too long. Maybe she’d lost more blood than she’d thought. She moved slightly, then froze as the leaves of the tree rustled against her hair. For a second, she thought the vampire had heard. He turned in her direction, and even in the moonlight she could see the high cheekbones and the flare of his nostrils as he scented the air. But she was sure she was too far away and the girl was making a lot of noise now, kneeling in the water, lifting it in handfuls above her head, crooning at the moon.

Then - Buffy felt the heat rise in her face. He kicked off his boots and was reaching for the buckle of his belt. She could feel her eyes growing larger and larger as he pushed his jeans down and stepped out of them. Bathed in silver light, he stood, facing her, stark naked, hands on hips with everything – she’d never known they came in that sort of size!

She pushed herself backwards into the undergrowth and fled homewards. The full frontal she could just about cope with - after all, she wasn’t ever going to see all that again unless she had dreams, no nightmares about it - but what had made her spitting angry was that - he’d winked at her!

* * * * 

 

Go Home

 

He flung himself in from the dark Los Angeles street and slumped into a chair in the corner of the café. He could feel the weight of the little parcel in his duster pocket as if it was made of lead. Silver bracelets. But would she wear them? He doubted it. He doubted so much these days, including her faithfulness. He shut his eyes and leant back wearily in the chair. God, he needed coffee. He hated L.A. but he hadn’t been able to get what he needed where they were living. He sensed a waitress standing at his side. "Coffee, black, fast, thanks."

No movement.

“Tonight would be good, sweetheart,” he muttered, then when there was no response, “Come on - don’t tell me you don’t speak English. That’s all I need.” Sodding foreigners. “Coffee - black - fast - thanks.” He said the last four words very slowly and very loudly, as if that was going to make a difference to being understood. You could take the vampire out of England but never take the Englishman out of the vampire. 

He opened one blue eye a slit. She was still standing there. He could see her fingers gripping a pencil and order book. That was a weird way to hold a pencil. She’d never write a thing like that. He opened the other eye and squinted at her name badge. ‘Anne’. Nice name. He’d always liked it. His mother had been called Anne. Then an odd thrill ran over his body. The name badge was pinned to material over a breast that his body knew. He stared down swiftly at the table top. He knew that if he once looked up and found a pair of angry green eyes gazing down at him, that pencil would end his unlife once and for all.

"Not hunting. Been buying Dru a present," he muttered. "Driving back tonight."

“Angel’s dead.“ The voice seemed to come from a long way away. “I killed him after you left.”

Spike poured sugar from the container into a pattern on the table top. “So I heard. You or Angelus, luv, heard that, too. No choice. We do what we must. He’d have known that. Wouldn’t hold a grudge. Well, actually Angelus would hold a grudge, Irish as the bogs, hence centuries of fighting over the sodding country. But as he’s gone, you don’t have to worry. That why you’re here playing waitress? Out of guilt?”

“Mom has problems with the whole Slayer scene.”

Spike shrugged. “Nice lady, your mum. She’ll come round. Bet she’s worried about you. I’d go home, if I was you, Slayer. L.A.’s a dump. Can’t imagine who’d want to live here.“

He couldn’t help it - he risked a flashing upward glance, then wished he hadn’t. She was gazing into nothing and the green eyes were awash with tears. Deep, deep inside him, passion stirred, yawned and woke up. No! The feelings he was having were ridiculous. He was just tired from Dru’s behaviour, that was all. He pushed his chair back with a screech on the tiled floor. “So, don’t worry about the coffee, then,” he said. “I’ll be off.” He edged round her and dived out of the door, back into the night where he belonged.

Buffy wiped her face with the back of her hand. It was trembling, she noticed, absentmindedly. Was he right? Should she go home? She smiled. Fancy seeing Spike of all people. And what was really ridiculous was that when she’d first seen him sitting there, she’d been pleased. How weird was that? All her feelings of homesickness had vanished at the sight of a platinum head and a black leather coat that meant home. Obviously she was far more tired than she’d thought.

She put her pad and pencil away and frowned down at the mess Spike had made on the table. Then she froze. He’d been drawing with his finger in the spilt sugar. A heart with a B and a S and an arrow linking them together.

 

This next meeting was a Christmas story that has also been posted by itself on other sites as FIGHTING ON. We are in Season 3. Spike and Dru have left town and Angel wants to kill himself. 

 

Somewhere close by a radio was playing a very upbeat version of Joy to the World. Sunnydale was getting in the Christmas spirit with a vengeance. And today was the biggie, the day when all children and parents bonded together - the buying of The Tree. But this year, even that seemed doomed to failure. The circle of dead Christmas trees for sale in the vacant lot was weird, Buffy thought as she pushed her way through skeletal brown branches, the needles catching in her coat and hair.

The ground felt spongy beneath her feet and there was a hideous smell - decay and death. Not at all festive! She pulled a face as dead needles tried to force their way into her mouth. She sighed and wondered why she was here amongst the petrified forest and Cordy was going skiing in Aspen.

Although she couldn’t see her, Buffy could hear her mom, only feet away. It was amazing how quickly you could get turned round and loose sight of people in this maze.  
Joyce was exclaiming over the size and price of a spruce that would only last a few days in the warmth of their living-room, anyway. But at least the trees in her part of the lot would start out semi alive - where Buffy was walking was obviously a resting place for everything old and dead and -

\- and to her astonishment and anger, the deadest of the dead was standing in the centre of the withered circle, black leather coat shiny in the winter sunlight, platinum hair slick, eyes - well she’d forgotten because Angel’s were so dark and soulful just how startlingly blue and sparkling Spike’s eyes were.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed at him.

“Oh great, the bloody Slayer! Just what I need. How do you do it? Do you have some sort of built in radar that picks me out?”

Buffy wondered why this vampire always managed to irritate her so much. “Strangely enough, Spike, I’m visiting a Christmas tree lot to buy a Christmas tree! I appreciate that takes a lot of working out, but even you - ” She stopped. Why on earth was she talking to him? “Does Angel know you’re in town?”

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow and lit a cigarette. He blew smoke towards her and grinned as she coughed dramatically. He flicked the lighter again and watched as the flame flicked over a branch of brown pine needles near him.

Buffy scowled and batted out the little sparks with her fingers. “Stop that! ”

Spike shrugged. “No, Lover Boy doesn’t know and I have no intention of telling him. And if you want a nice cosy Christmas with Peaches, then I suggest you keep quiet as well.”

“Then get out of Sunnydale. Go back to - well, wherever you’re lurking now. Go back to Dru. Just - ” she waved her hands and caught a tree which immediately toppled over. She dived to catch it at the same time as Spike. For a second their hands caught and tangled until they pulled free, pushing the tree to one side. Buffy stepped back, trying to catch her breath. She was going down with a cold - this tightness in her chest was an obvious sign.

“You all right, Buffy?” she heard her mother call.

“Yes, Mom, I’m fine. Still looking for the perfect tree.”

“Oh, is that Joyce? Shall I stop and say hello?” Spike ground out his cigarette and started to push his way through the trees.

Buffy pulled a stake from her pocket. “Take one more step - just one step, Spike and you’re dust. Now, what is it about the words ‘go away’ you don’t understand?”

Spike shrugged, his blue eyes guarded. “Much as I love to obey your every word, Slayer, I can’t go until I find Matilda.”

Buffy felt sick. “Not another girl you’ve turned! Isn’t Dru enough for you?”

Spike hesitated, gazing at her horrified face, the green eyes wide with horror and disgust. There was so much he could have said about Dru, but not to the Slayer. He wished - but only for a second or two - that Angel wasn’t his hated grandsire, but a real mate. The sort of guy you could confide in, have a drink or five with, explain that you were doing your best but your crazy girlfriend whom you’d loved for so many, many years, was slowly driving you as mad as she was. That he might be wrong, but he had the nasty feeling she was having it off with someone - something - else and what did Angel think he should do. A real mate would have sympathised, then told him he was imagining it. Mind you, Angel had bonked Dru himself, so perhaps he would just have laughed and told Spike that he was a weak, feeble idiot who couldn’t keep his own woman in check. 

It must be rather nice in some ways, he thought wistfully, to be the Slayer. Oh not for killing vampires and demons, of course, but to have Red around and, god help us, the Whelp and even old tweedy knickers, Giles; all friends, all there for support. And she’d even got Mr Big and Broody as well for a little love and affection, although hey, they couldn’t go the whole way and shag each other silly apparently, so a plus there. He shivered, which was ridiculous because he didn’t feel the cold. It was all the Slayer’s fault. He’d probably caught some Slayer disease off her. The tightness he felt in his chest was probably the start of some soddin‘ cold.

Sometimes he realised just how alone in the world he was, but there was no way he was going to let the Slayer realise he was tired and feeling down on his luck.

“Matilda isn’t a girl, Slayer, she’s a soddin’ doll. One of Dru’s babies. Got left behind when we scarpered. I said I’d buy her another one, the finest in Mexico, but no, she has to have Miss Matilda. She completes the rotten circle or some such rubbish, so I’ve got to find her, haven’t I?”

Buffy bit her lip and tried very hard not to laugh. Oh the Big Bad was so under his lady’s thumb, even if it was the thumb of a merciless mass killer. "And, er, do you know where Miss Matilda is now?” It was so hard to keep the tremble out of her voice.

Spike looked at her suspiciously. If the Slayer was laughing at him, he would risk getting staked so he could bite her. Sink his fangs into that luscious soft neck. Just once. It would be worth it. He could die happy. “Got a good idea. Old church over by Forest Drive. Dru thinks she left Miss Matilda in the bell tower when she killed the guy playing the organ a couple of months ago.”

“Oh gross, Spike. How can you kill someone inside a church?”

The vampire looked puzzled, then shrugged. “It’s easy. As long as you don’t touch any of the crosses, it’s fine, Slayer. Don’t worry.”

She felt her fingers itch to reach for her stake. Why was she standing here, trading words with this evil - thing?

"Buffy!” Joyce’s voice came clearly to them.

“I’ve got to go.” She stared at the vampire in horror. “Just get the stupid doll and go, Spike. Or - or I’ll tell Angel!”

She whirled round and dived back through the dead trees. Spike stared after her. She wasn’t going to tell lover boy, he could sense that. So, they shared a secret. And for some reason that cheered him up immensely. He’d find the church and the rotten doll then get the hell out of Sunnydale again. Surely if he tried a bit harder with Dru, she’d stop - well, whatever it was she did when she left their bed and vanished for days on end.

And he flicked his lighter and set a tree ablaze. 

The night was just ending when Buffy left Angel at the corner of Main Street. He’d held her tight, his dark eyes full of concern and love and all the things they couldn’t say and couldn’t do were there between them. She walked on home, the weird, unexpected snow crisp under her boots. Angel was staying in Sunnydale, for now, at least. He wasn’t going to let the sun do its dirty work on him after all. She was so glad, really pleased, couldn’t have been happier. I mean, hey, you knew you were loved and wanted when your guy preferred to commit suicide rather than fight against what was stopping you being together! She tried a joyful skip in the snow and slid over onto her bottom. 

Grumbling she stood up, brushing off the snow, wondering why the joyful skip had seemed so difficult. She did feel joyful, didn’t she? The man she loved was still in her life.

As she looked up, she realised she was standing outside a church, its tower reaching up into the pre-dawn sky. There was a life-size Christmas crib on the sidewalk outside and now there was a most unlikely layer of snow on top of the figures surrounding baby Jesus in the manger. She stood admiring it for a while, then something caught her attention and she stiffened. There was a light flickering inside the church. Someone robbing a church, just before Christmas? Well, in Sunnydale it wouldn’t surprise her. 

She crept up to the door and pushed it open. It creaked violently and she winced. “Come in if you’re coming in, Slayer. God, woman, do you want the whole of Sunnydale to join us!”

“Spike? Why on earth are you still here?” Buffy stepped up the aisle to where he knelt besides the font. He’d lit a couple of candles and his blond hair gleamed almost gold in the light from their flames. “Anyway, how did you know it was me?”

He glanced up from his position on the black and white tiled floor. “Smelt you and heard you, Slayer. Vampire, remember? You should do, you’ve got Peaches pong all over you. It’s the hair gell, you know, he buys it by the gallon. He didn’t top himself, then?”

She stared at him, horrified. “How did you - no, he’s OK. It - it started to snow.”

Spike shrugged. “Word gets around, pet. I never thought he’d go through with it, mind, otherwise I might have wandered up and put in the odd word of encouragement myself.”

Buffy tried to ignore him. “You still haven’t said what you’re doing here.” She took another step forward, then stopped. “Oh!” 

In front of Spike on the floor lay a Victorian china doll, dressed in white lace, her head smashed into myriad pieces. The eyes had rolled out and stared up from the floor, like two hideous little blue marbles. From somewhere in the church, Spike had found a tube of glue and was trying to stick the bits back together.

“It’s Miss Matilda,” he said desperately, trying to hold one china cheek still whilst he pressed a piece of forehead against it. “She was up in the bell tower, like Dru said, but I slipped in the soddin’ snow coming down the steps and dropped her.”

Buffy knelt down beside him. “Spike - stop. She’s in too many bits. You’ll never get her back together. She’ll look - well, she won’t look good.”

“Promised Dru I’d find Miss Matilda. She’s relying on me.”

“She’ll understand.”

The sapphire eyes stared straight at her and for a weird moment she felt herself lost in his gaze. “You don’t understand, she’s not herself, Slayer. She’s...well, I have to be strong for her. I have to fight for her. It’s hard and it’s painful and it’s every bloody day. But it’s what I have to do. I won’t let her down.”

Buffy sat back on her heels and stared at him, her cheeks burning. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d said almost the same things to Angel, only an hour or so ago.  
And even as spoken, she’d known in her heart that he didn’t understand. Angel had thought he was saving her from a dreadful future, but all he really wanted to do was escape from the problem, escape from the world and enjoy his brooding somewhere that wasn’t Sunnydale.

Spike was far more evil than Angel. He had no soul, nothing decent or redeeming in his whole being. But he was kneeling in a church, trying to mend a china doll because his mad partner was relying on him. She realised with a shock of understanding that he would never give in, no matter how hard it was. Buffy tried to picture Spike waiting for the murderous sunrise to finish him off and knew it would never happen. He would fight to the end; find a way, somehow, because the woman he loved needed him. Because strong meant fighting. This vampire knew that — but not her one. But that was impossible. Angel had a soul. He had to understand that the woman he loved needed him, just as much as Dru needed Spike.

Spike was just a - a thing! An evil, dead thing. How could he fight for love when Angel couldn’t? Without saying another word, she lurched to her feet and evading the hand that automatically reached out to her, ran from the church, sliding and slipping in the wet snow, desperate to get home, to push these thoughts from her head and pretend everything was all right in her world this Christmas. 

Behind her, a slim figure in a black leather coat walked out of the church and paused to watch her go. Then he stopped, sighed and stared at the broken pieces in his hand. He clenched his fist round them and watched as a few drops of blood dripped into the snow at his feet. Then he shrugged and threw the remains of the doll to one side. 

He gazed round and lit a cigarette. So, that was it then. Dawn was coming and he would have to go back to Mexico and admit he’d failed. Then saw the crib. A slow, triumphant smile crossed his face and being careful to avoid all crosses, he gently lifted the doll like model of Jesus from the manger.

Sod it, so it wasn’t Miss bleedin’ Matilda, but he had the feeling he could persuade Dru it was a good alternative. It was worth a try, anyway. And stuffing the baby safely inside his duster, he strode off into Christmas to continue his fight.

 

More meetings on the way soon


	2. The Dance Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More episodes relating the meetings between Buffy and Spike that they never wanted revealed.

Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh

 

Not Cricket

He’d slid silently into town. No car this time. And he was sober. He’d passed through endless passages, graveyards and crypts, like a dark ghost. Vampires and demons saw him coming and sensed his mission. They faded away, scared, not wishing to come between him and his deadly goal. Now Sunnydale lay before him; one house, one bedroom, one Slayer. He’d heard on the demon grapevine - and nothing travelled faster - that she was sick, weak, at her lowest ebb. Something about a soddin’ test from the soddin’ Watchers’ Council.

Oh he knew all about the Cruciamentum. Had seen it in action before. A Slayer in France he hadn’t had a chance to kill. But he hadn’t really believed good old Wanker Giles would put her through it. What a prick! But hey, good result for vampires and demons.

He ghosted up the tree that grew outside her bedroom window, no more than a silent shadow in the moonless night. The window was open and it took seconds to slide his legs across the sill and be standing by her bed. She’d forgotten she’d invited him in once. Forgotten to uninvite him. 

She was fast asleep - looking exhausted. He stared down at tumbled blonde hair, bare arms and shoulders and a neck, open and waiting for him. The beauty of his face changed in an instant and his eyes glowed golden and his fangs extended. Oh yes, Slayer number three was about to be his next kill. He bent forward, then hesitated and the yellow glow faded as sapphire returned to his eyes and his face shimmered back to human. Sod it! This wasn’t as much fun as he’d hoped it would be. It seemed a little – he struggled for a word and found – unfair. Was it unfair to kill her while she was asleep? The other two Slayers had been taken in fair fights, they’d given as good as they got - until he killed them. He’d enjoyed himself.

Somehow, biting this Slayer in her sleep while she was weak - well, it just wasn’t cricket, was it?

He flinched. Bloody hell - where had that old saying sprung from? From the eternal Englishman who lurked somewhere in his deepest nerve cells, came a memory of Sunday afternoons, a village green, the crisp sound of ball on bat, leather on willow and a distant cry of “Well played, William. Well played, sir!” Fair play. Declare if you’re ahead and always give the other team a sporting chance. He’d come a very long way since those days.

He stared down at the Slayer who gave a funny little snore and turned over restlessly in her sleep. He froze as her hand fumbled across the pillow, reaching towards him. But then relaxed as her fingers grasped a battered toy pig and pulled it close to her.

He could sense how weak she was, but it wouldn’t be long before she recovered. This might be his only chance to rid the world of her. So what was he waiting for? He reached out to waken her. If she was conscious, he could kill her, he reasoned. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he couldn’t.

“Bloody hell. I’ll wait until you’re strong again, Slayer,” he muttered. “Killing something that’s got no more strength than a puppy? Where’s the fun in you not fighting back, not knowing it‘s me who’s biting you? Even kittens have claws.”

And instead of reaching for her throat, the vampire slid out of the window, back into the welcoming night.

 

Zipide - do - dah.

 

Buffy held the dress up over her breasts with one hand and struggled to pull up the zip with the other. The changing-room was too small, there was no wiggle room. “Willow!” she hissed through the closed curtains. “Willow! Come and zip me up. Quick!”

Goodness knows where her friend was. The redhead could wander off at the drop of a hat, just when she was most needed.

Buffy stared down at the slim skirt with the kick pleat at the back. She loved this dress. Even if she never got to go to the Prom, she still loved this dress. She smoothed the material with an adoring hand, then sighed with relief as she felt the zip being eased up her back. “Thank goodness. Where on earth have you - ”

She stopped in mid sentence. She’d looked up to talk to Willow in the mirror - and there was no one there! But she could definitely feel fingers on the warm flesh of her back.  
Spinning round she grabbed at the top of the dress and hauled it up as high as it would go. “Spike! What the hell are you doing. Get out! Any second and you’ll be dust, vampire.”

“It’s pink,” he said cheerfully, ignoring her hissed exclamation. “Pink and girly, Slayer. Very - well - very pink.”

“It’s not pink, it’s champagne, if you must know,” Buffy said angrily. “And what the hell am I doing talking about clothes to you? Go away, Spike. I won’t tell you again.”

He pulled a hurt face. “Slayer, I’m distraught. Here was I thinking I was coming to the rescue of a damsel in distress. Is it supposed to slip off your tits like that, by the way?”

“What!” Buffy pulled up the bodice. How embarrassing. How much had he seen? She felt her face going red. God, if only she could let go of the bodice and reach for her stake, she’d get rid of this bleached idiot once and for all. “Spike, this is a dress shop. You can’t be in here. And what are you doing in Sunnydale, anyway? You should be in Mexico.”

He sat on the little gilt chair in the corner of the cubicle and grinned at her. “Passing through, Slayer. On my way from A to B. Thought I’d look up my grandsire and see if there’s any action going at this Ascension thing that’s coming up. Sounds like a bloody good fight to me. I could do with a good scrap.”

Buffy looked at him in despair. The last thing she wanted was Spike in the mix when she and Angel were trying to work out their problems.

“Anyway,” he stretched and she turned away so as not to watch the muscles rippling under his black T-shirt. For some reason it made her feel uncomfortable. “Peaches was busy when I called round. He had a visitor - ” He threw her a look under black lashes that were far too long for a man. But Buffy wasn’t listening. She so wanted him not to be there.

“Spike. Go. Now. To Mexico. Or wherever you usually slink off to when you get out of Sunnydale.”

Spike shrugged, stood up and pushed his way out of the cubicle. He’d been going to tell her that he’d watched her mother going into Angel’s mansion. He’d been going to tell her what he’d overheard them talking about. He’d thought she’d be interested to know that her mother wanted Angel to end their relationship. But, sod it, if she was going to be all pompous and Slayerish, especially after he’d helped her to get dressed, he wouldn’t bother. Let them make their little plans without the Slayer knowing. He checked that the coast was clear, then stuck his head back round the curtain. As he’d thought, the dress was now down around her waist and both her breasts were bare to his gaze.

He grinned wickedly at her nipples. “They look pink to me, too, Slayer. But I bet they taste of champagne!”

 

Knight in black leather

Joyce Summers swung the car over into the parking area by the rest stop on the highway out of Sunnydale. She turned to look at her daughter. “I still don’t see why this is necessary, Buffy. If you think there’s great danger around, then I should be at home, in case you need me.”

“Mom, we’ve been through all this. I can’t concentrate on the Mayor and his Ascension if I have to worry about you and there’s no one I trust to look out for you when I’m not there.” They got out of the car and Buffy gave her mother a hug. “Take care. I’ll catch the bus back to town. You just drive on and I’ll contact you - well - whenever I can. And don’t worry.”

“Yeah, don’t worry Mommy, your little girl’s going to be in good hands!”

Buffy swung round to find three hulking great brutes standing behind them. Not demons or vamps, just human dross. She wished desperately she could stake them as she would a vampire, but knew that was impossible. “Hey, we’re not bothering you. Why not just walk away?” she suggested calmly, eyeing the nearest one and reckoning she could smash his kneecap with one good kick and that didn’t really count as hurting, did it?

Neanderthal number one just giggled inanely and started towards her, hands swinging up into fists. “I like little blonde girls a lot,” he said. “I can show you a really good time, sweetheart. Then I’ll show your Mommy. I bet she hasn’t had any since you were made, eh?”

“Mom, get in the car and lock the doors,” Buffy said quietly.

“Buffy - ”

“Car, now!”

She felt Joyce slide away from her and slam the door shut. Buffy would have been happier if she’d just driven away, but knew she wouldn’t leave her daughter standing there, facing these idiots.

Neanderthal swung at her while his friends jeered in the background. Buffy’s foot caught him on his knee, just as she’d imagined and he fell yelling to the floor. But her impetus had taken her towards the other two and their fists connected with her ribcage in smashing blows.

“You’ll pay for that, bitch!” the first one said, his blackened teeth bared in an angry grin and Buffy felt the first smidgen of fear trickle down her back. Three humans were far more difficult to fight than three vampires.

Then, as she crouched, something fast, black coated and blond haired, erupted between her and her attackers. The blackened teeth shattered and there was a cracking of ribs and howling as a dusty boot connected into very tender intimate parts of certain bodies. The first guy was grabbed as the other two stumbled away. The figure paused in front of Buffy and bent its mouth towards the thick neck above the dirty checked shirt. 

“Spike! Stop. Let him go.”

He spun round, game faced, golden eyes glowing. As she watched, the human appeared. “Slayer! That was fun. Hey, all legitimate, too, what with the coming to the rescue of you and your Mom and all. Want me to finish him off? Could do with a good meal.”

“No! Thank you, but a world of no! They’re humans, Spike. However bad they are, I can’t allow you to - ”

“OK, OK, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Growling, he pushed the man violently towards the darker corner of the car park, then lit a cigarette and stared at her through the flame of his lighter. “Getting Joyce out of town, I suppose.”

She nodded. 

“Good idea, Slayer. Going to be fun and games all round at the Ascension. Sorry I can’t stay and watch you all die, but Peaches said I’d only be in the way.”

“I don’t intend to die, so you won’t miss much,” she snapped. 

“Buffy? Are you OK. Have those men gone?” It was her mother from the car. “Who are you talking to?”

“Yes, I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry, it’s no one.” Then as her mouth seemed to take on a life of its own, “Spike, which way are you ...?” she stopped: there was no way she could ask an evil thing to help.

Spike raised an eyebrow at her. “Joyce? Don’t worry, Slayer. I’ll drive along behind her all the way to where she’s going. She won’t even know I’m there. After all, like you just said, I’m no one.”

“And you wouldn’t - ”

Spike looked as shocked as a Big Bad could and for a weird moment, Buffy could see a different man looking out of his eyes, someone softer and - a silly word came into her mind - gallant.

“No snacking on Mom - promise. Hey, you can trust me, Slayer.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “That’s something I’ll never, ever do, Spike. Believe me. I’d tell you I loved you before I said I trusted you!” And as she waited for the bus back into Sunnydale and the death and mayhem that awaited her, she wondered why on earth she’d said that and why he’d laughed all the way back to his car.

 

Damsels in Distress

 

The steam was still rising from the ruins of Sunnydale High School. Buffy stood, staring into the dark, at the chaos she’d begun and finished. Angel had walked away from her. Just - walked away. How could he do that? She thought her heart was going to split the pain was so bad. She would never have given up, never just resigned from the fight like that. There would be books they could consult, Giles would have helped. Curses could be lifted. Anything was possible if you truly believed.

She didn’t know which was worse: the pain of his leaving or the pain of believing his love of the great tragedy that was his life was more than the love he had for her.  
Suddenly, the hairs of the back of her neck tingled. Vampire! He’d come back. He hadn’t left her. She was still loved. But the figure in black was someone different.

“Spike!” Her disappointment was so acute she could have killed him on the spot.

“Don’t sound so pleased to see me, Slayer. I just thought I’d let you know that your - "

“Go away. Just get out of here! I can’t stand the sight of you tonight.”

“But - ”

“I won’t warn you again, Spike. I can’t deal with you tonight.” She knew she was being harsher than she needed, that she’d asked him to look out for her mother, but she had an overwhelming desire to hit out and hurt someone. Make them pay for the pain she was carrying. And it was no good being nasty to Willow or Giles or Xander. They would just look soulful and miserable and it would make her feel worse. But Spike - that was someone she could hurt and her pain would go away.

She lashed out and her fist caught him full in the face, unprepared for her blow. A flurry of punches followed until he was down and she was kicking and kicking and kicking...

Then the emptiness followed. She stared at the black leather figure on the floor. The blood spattered on the ground. He hadn’t even tried to fight back, had probably guessed she would stake him if he did. The tears that she’d controlled all this time began to flow and she turned and ran.

Spike got to his feet, anger coursing through him. He’d come to tell her that her mum was okay and this was all the thanks he got. Well, never again. That was the last time he did a favour for anyone. He snarled into game face as a pretty blonde girl emerged from the shadows. He could hurt and kill, too. He’d show the Slayer just how much damage a real Big Bad could do. He reached out, then stopped. Vampire. New vampire.

“Buffy’s always been a bitch,” she said, tossing back her hair. “I never liked her. Did she hurt you?”

Spike shrugged away the pain. “Not really. Who are you?”

The girl frowned as if she couldn’t quite remember, then smiled. “ I was graduating today, but there was a big fight and a bigger snake and I got bit. I think I’m a vampire now.”

Spike laughed harshly. “You are that all right.” He lit a cigarette and turned to leave.

“Wait up. What do I do next? Where do I go?”

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” Spike drawled in his best Clark Gable impression.

The girl came closer. Spike raised an eyebrow. She had quite a figure and he was missing female company since Dru had - well, since he was on his own. A man had needs, after all, and he wasn’t like Peaches. How that wanker could turn his back on a delectable piece like the Slayer and go off brooding into the night defeated him.

“Can I tag along with you then?”

He hesitated. He had a feeling that those big eyes and tits might become a bit boring after a while, but she’d only get herself staked if he left her on her own, and hey, just because the Slayer was feeling love-sick, there was no reason for him to follow suit.

“Pretty please. I’ll do anything you want. And I’ll even tell you all about Buffy Summers and how nasty she’s been to people.”

She pressed herself against him and his body reacted almost against his will. “OK. For a couple of days. What’s your name?”

“I think it used to be Harmony.”

“Harm.” He grinned evilly. “That‘s a great name for a vampire. Mine’s Spike.”

The girl laughed. She thought Buffy Summers was an idiot for beating up on this guy. “I think I’ll just call you my Blondie Bear.”

 

More meetings follow shortly.


	3. Moving On...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More meetings between Buffy and Spike that they never wanted you to know about!

Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh

Moving On

The Greyhound bus dropped her off a couple of blocks from the huge old hotel. She stood on the sidewalk across the road, staring up at the grandiose façade. The Hyperion. Vast. Impressive. She’d heard this was where he was living in Los Angeles and, of all crazy things, running a detective agency! It was a far cry from Sunnydale.

Buffy had never ever stayed in a place like this. Jeez, to be honest she couldn’t remember ever staying in a hotel of any sort. A motel once, when she’d been away with her mom to visit her aunt, but they’d never had the sort of money to stay in this type of place. She wondered where Angel had found the cash. But then, hey, where did vamps ever get their money from?

She didn’t know why she’d come. They were finished. Angel had walked away without a backward glance after the Mayor had turned snakey and exploded into bite size pieces.

She was due to start at college soon. There was a lot to do before then. She should have been at home; packing, organizing, gossiping to Willow, spending time with her mom before the big goodbye-I’m-leaving-home bit happened. But she needed - what? Just to see him once more, to talk to him, she told herself. But what good was that going to do? She was ashamed of herself for saying this evening that she was heading out to patrol and getting on a bus for Los Angeles instead. But she was so angry that he hadn’t tried to fight harder for their future.

Was this how someone deeply in love behaved? Buffy had lain awake night after night, trying to put herself in his place. But no matter how hard she tried to tell herself that she would have done the same thing, she knew that was a lie. She would have fought and fought and fought again to find a way they could be together. You didn’t give up on love. Love was a gift. She felt hers had been flung back in her face with all its pretty wrapping paper torn and dirtied!

She’d had no chance to tell Angel how she felt. He’d just gone. As if it was all about him, that her feelings didn’t count.

She’d been so desperately unhappy; there was no one to talk to about it. Willow and Xander were only too glad he’d gone. As for Giles. She bit her lip. Giles could never look at Angel without seeing Angelus. She couldn’t even let her mom in on her pain. She knew Joyce didn’t like Angel, had never trusted him. So everything was tightly bottled up inside her and the only release came from the mad demon killing sprees she’d been on every evening this summer.

No, Buffy didn’t want to talk, she wasn’t going to plead, beg for him to come back. She wasn’t that pathetic, surely? No, she rationalized, she just needed to see how his life was without her, living in this great, soulesss hotel. He was probably holed up in some dark room, cold and miserable. She knew he’d be desperately unhappy. And that hurt her, too.

Spike leapt like a black, leather-clad leopard across the shadowy rooftops towards the Hyperion hotel. Posh sort of place his grandsire was living in. Made a dirty crypt seem very second rate. But of course that was what always happened, wasn’t it? Had been happening for years. One of them got all the goodies; the girl and the easy living - even a rotten soul. And he got - a crypt, a mad girlfriend who dumped him and a sex crazy newbie vamp who was surprised when a jewelled cross stolen from her supper burnt her skin. So why was he here? To talk? What would he say? Hey, Peaches, I’m your family. Why didn’t you ask me to join your poncy detective gang?

OK, Spike thought with a flash of honesty, I wouldn’t soddin’ well join his groupies if you paid me in free blood for centuries, but... It would have been nice to be asked. Just once. To sense that you belonged. God, how he hated him! 

Buffy had stared at the front entrance of the hotel and knew she couldn’t just go in, unannounced. She didn’t want Angel to know she was there, well, not unless she decided he needed to know. She swung herself up the side of the building, climbing from ledge to ledge, found a window half open and squeezed inside.

Spike reached the roof the hotel, forced open the door to the service steps and silently strode down a long corridor towards the main stairway. He was getting irritated with himself now, spoiling for a fight, wanting to feel his fists crash into Liam’s stupid fat face.

Hidden behind a pillar, Buffy stared down into the great hall beneath her. There he was, sitting, talking to someone still hidden by the pillar. He looked - well, actually he looked fine! He was smiling, leaning back in his chair, linking his hands behind his neck, relaxing. No great sadness and heartache here, then. He was smiling and, even as she watched, the person he was talking to crossed to his side. Angel looked up at her and laughed. It was Cordelia Chase.

In that split second Buffy grew up. Later she even thought she remembered a sort of click in her head when she switched from love-sick teenager to clear-eyed adult. It didn’t prevent the tears from running down her face, but they were washing away a betrayal that hurt so badly that they could do no lasting harm.

Spike smelt the tears before he saw her. Later he thought that was weird. Slayer blood he could understand, but he’d bloody well smelt her crying. In fact, in the dark of the following night, inside his head, the part of him called William escaped captivity and began to write a dreadful poem called Tears of a Slayer until Spike overpowered him and locked him back in his cage.

He could see Buffy now, her face so white he thought she might well faint, staring down into the hall, gazing at Angel probably. Spike couldn’t have cared less at that moment. Grimly, he knew if he wanted to live she mustn’t see him here. Angry, upset Slayers were the worst sort to meet on a dark night. But he was too late; she turned, looked at him, her big green eyes wet with anguish and hurt. But oddly, she didn’t go for her stake. Didn’t spit out sarcastic words or even punch him in the face. She just looked at him, as if she was somehow disappointed.

Suddenly, even though she was the Slayer and so he loathed her and would take the very next chance that came along to sink his fangs in her scrawny white neck, it was desperately important that she didn’t think he lived here, that she knew he wasn’t part of this poxy set-up. And he could cheerfully have killed Liam for doing this to her. He was the only vampire who had the right to make the Slayer miserable. “I’ve come to fight him,” he blurted out.

For a second a strange relief crossed her face, almost as if his words had somehow eased the pain she was feeling. Then she shrugged and he realised a woman was looking at him tonight, not a girl.

“Move on, Spike,” she said quietly. “Just - move on.”

 

 

Meeting: “Don’t Touch!”

“Will, hi!”

“Buffy? Where are you? I’ve been waiting ages.”

“Giles had to pack some of Wesley’s books and send them back to England. But he’s sprained his wrist and gone to hospital to get it strapped up - Giles, not Wesley so I’m doing it for him.” Buffy tucked the phone under her chin and dropped another couple of dusty tomes into a box. "Î’ll be there soon.”

“OK. See you then.”

Buffy hung up and wiped her hands down her jeans. How did books get so dirty? “Maybe there are dust demons that drift around in the air until they find a nice home on old leather covers,” she muttered.

“No such things as dust demons, Slayer,” a voice behind her said.

Buffy spun round, her hand going for the stake in her waistband. Then she hesitated. Leaning against the wall was Spike. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The blond vampire raised an eyebrow. “Language, Slayer! If I told you Rupert had offered to lend me a book, would you believe me?”

Buffy looked at him in scorn. “I’m not that stupid, Spike. Giles wouldn’t give you the time of day, let alone one of his books. You’re stealing something, aren’t you? Right, go away, before he comes home.”

Spike reached out with a dusty boot and kicked over a pile of books. “These belong to that poncy Wyndham Price?”

“I won’t tell you again. I don’t know why I’m letting you stand there alive.”

“Dead already, sweetheart. Very dead. Remember?”

Buffy smacked his hand away as he reached for a big red covered book on the table. “Don’t call me sweetheart. And don’t touch that!”

She grabbed at his hand as he tried to pick up the book again. Their fingers tangled together. His were cool and she flinched and, angry with herself for being so indecisive, she pulled out a stake and lunged at him as he grabbed the book out of her grasp.

Spike swayed away, smiling and prowled round Giles’ room. “Oh, you want to fight, Slayer? That’ll be fun. Hey, last time I saw you, you were drooling over Peaches up in L.A. How is the love of your life? Oh, yes, busy with his new friends and the beautiful Miss Chase. You really do have rotten taste in men, Slayer.”

Buffy felt the colour drain from her cheeks. “Spike, just put the book down and go. I’m not joking anymore. You’re dust if you don’t. I mean it.”

Spike eased towards the door, prudently putting the table between him and the very pissed off Slayer. She was reacting exactly as he’d thought she would. He could have fought her, but somehow he knew the time wasn’t right for that yet. Much more fun to have a Slayer around he could annoy, especially as Liam had left town for good. He stared at her now; blonde hair tumbled round her cheeks, green eyes blazing, her body tense. She wasn’t his type, of course, he liked his women dark haired and pale skinned. But even so, he had to admit she was hot and he wouldn’t ever kick her out of his bed if she -

He ducked as a bottle flew through the air, just missing his head. It crashed on the floor and the smell of good whisky crept through the room. Spike flinched. “Bloody hell, Slayer. What a waste of Scotch!” he yelled. “Now, now, no need to get upset with me just because your boyfriend’s gone off with another girl. Perhaps she’s better in bed than you. Did you ever think of that? Oh now, bed’s a bad subject where Peaches is concerned, isn’t it?”

“Get out, Spike!” Her voice quivered with anguish. What was it about this vamp that he always seemed to know the right buttons to push to make her heart ache? 

He backed further towards the door, feeling for the handle as she advanced towards him. He knew he’d pushed her as far as he dared. He grinned and flung the red book back at her, making her catch it in mid air.

Triumphantly, she clutched it to her chest as he slid out into the dark, not seeing that he’d hidden another, older, book in his duster pocket . The book he’d guessed Wyndham Price would have, the one he’d been seeking which would give him some vital information regarding the whereabouts a certain gem that was destined to change his unlife for ever.

 

Meeting: A Genuine Guy

Spike watched Harmony vanish into the dark and turned back to the party. Load of wankers the lot of them, he thought disdainfully. He stood in a dark corner and lit a cigarette. He could see the Slayer across the room, dancing with a dark haired guy. He heard someone shout “Parker!”. Spike filed the name away. Lunch, or perhaps a nice late supper. He didn’t know why he’d come back or why it annoyed him so much to watch the Slayer dancing with this boy. His hands were all over her and for a second Spike slipped into game face before remembering he was out in public.

But it had been enough for Buffy. He saw her head jerk, her body still for an instant, then she was staring around the room, searching, her vampire radar on full alert. Within seconds she’d found him, and with a swift apology to her partner, she hurried across the room to join him in the shadowy corner. “Spike, what the heck are you doing back here? Don’t tell me Harmony’s dumped you already?”

“Very funny, Slayer. Oh, I’m laughing so hard it hurts. At least Harm’s a genuine idiot. Not like your friend Parker over there.”

“Parker, what do you mean, not genuine?”

“Can smell a fraud a mile away, sweetheart.”

“Don’t ever call me that again. And he is so genuine. He’s a really nice, caring, thoughtful guy. And hey, human. Has a reflection and everything, so there.”

Spike fought to keep a straight face; he forgot sometimes how very young she still was. “Sleeping with him then are you, pet?”

“What? No, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Are you going to sleep with him?” Spike heard himself saying. He was puzzled. He didn’t understand why the Slayer’s sex life should concern him. She’d been deflowered by Peaches, so no virgin in front of him. And yet - she was. That was the odd thing. Whatever she and Liam had done, it had hardly touched the surface of her sensuality. That he knew. She’d been hurt by Liam, but then he had that talent with women. Spike often envied Angelus. He himself always seemed to be on the receiving end when break ups occurred. What was the old saying, one who kisses and one who turns the cheek.

And he could sense that that hurt had damaged the Slayer’s ability to judge men correctly - otherwise, let’s face it, she would have killed him ages ago.

Buffy had gone very red in the face. “Spike, I have no intention of standing here discussing my sex life with an evil, dead creature. If you’re not gone in a minute, you’re so ashes. And that’s a fact.”

Spike shrugged and turned away. “Just don’t do it, Slayer. He isn’t worth it,” he muttered and strode out. God how he wanted to find this Gem of Amara. If he had it, he would be invincible, walk in the sunlight, be different. Deadly, yes, but - he wondered what Buffy would say if he couldn’t be killed.

Buffy watched the black leather coat vanish once more and turned back to Parker. She stared into his dark, soulful eyes. Of course he was genuine. He was a nice boy. A very nice boy. Spike was so wrong. And how dare he comment on her love life? Just because his was a mess. Well, she’d show him. If Parker asked - well, suggested - well, he was a very nice boy and she liked him a lot. She’d show William the Bloody she had extremely good choice in men!

 

Meeting: Nicshe Body

“Shumwhere over the rainbow, bluebidsh fly - hic! No, why should they be blue birds? Don’t like men. Hate Parker. Shumwhere over the rainbow lit’le pinkbirdsh fly - whoops!”

Buffy came crashing off the top the tombstone she’d been balancing on and lay giggling on the grass. “Thash a long way down. Lit’le pinkbird didn’t fly - she fell, over and over and over and over and — ”

A shadowy figure stepped out from behind the stone wall of a nearby crypt and stared in disbelief. “Slayer?”

“Thash me! Hello, Shpike. Have you got any beer? I’m a little pink bird and I drink beer.”

“You’re tipsy, no scrub that, Slayer, you’re bleeding sloshed, drunk, arse-faced blotto.” The vampire’s voice rose in complete astonishment. Of all the things he’d expected to see tonight, a very drunk Slayer was not even number one thousand on his list.

All his instincts roared into life. She was there in front of him, drunk, incapable and completely harmless. He doubted she could even hold a stake, let alone wield one in his direction. He prowled forward, his senses alert in case it was some sort of trap and the other idiots were lurking around to jump on him.

Buffy jumped up and danced around, waving her hands in front of her, fists clenched like a boxer. “Ooooh, are we going to fighsht, Shpike? Thish will be fun. Come on, fight like a man, oh, no, you’re not, are you. Whoops, shorry.” She stopped weaving from one foot to the other and began to giggle. “Thatsh funny. You’re not a man. You’re dead.”

Spike slid swiftly behind her and caught her hands in his. “Shall I show you exactly what sort of man I am, Slayer?” He jerked her hard against him and going into game face, bent his head through the blonde curls to the soft skin at the side of her neck. His teeth had hardly grazed the surface when a sound penetrated the kill lust in his brain. 

Buffy was giggling. “Shtop it. That tickles! You’re a bad, bad vampire, Shpike. I shall tell Giles.”

Spike hesitated, she was so drunk, this was like taking candy from a baby, but somehow that took some of the fun out of killing her. Then he hardened his unbeating heart and tried to force his fangs into her skin, but even as the rounded warmth of her arse pushed against him, he felt his game face fading as another part of his anatomy responded. He shoved her away in horror and she rolled on the grass, still laughing.

Spike turned to go just as Buffy reached out, hooked one ankle round his leg and pulled him down on top of her. Taken by surprise, Spike found himself lying face to face with the tipsy girl, her breasts pushing against his chest, her legs spread under his. He tried to get off her but the strength in Slayer legs, even drunken ones, was too much for him as they clasped together round his waist.

“Slayer, what the hell are you doing?” Spike roared, trying his hardest to stop his lips touching hers.

“Nicshe and comfy down here, mmmmm, nicshe body to cuddle, cosshy, shoft grass, lilt’le pink bird going to shleep now...safe at last.....” Her head rolled to one side and she was gone.

Spike eased himself off her prone body and stared around, bewildered. He supposed he could just leave her there for a passing vamp to find. Make someone a nice bedtime snack. But then they’d boast about killing a Slayer and this one was his - sometime soon, but not tonight.

Cursing blackly under his breath, he picked her up, carried her swiftly through the darkened alleyways and left her on her front porch. “God, Slayer, bet you have the mother and father of all headaches when you come round,” Spike muttered and backed away into the shadows, heading for Willie’s Bar. It had been a most disturbing evening and he needed a strong drink - fast.

As his footsteps died away, two blurry green eyes opened and a small, secret smile crept across Buffy’s face. “Was safe,” she murmured, “and, wow, nicshe body!”

next meeting follows soon.


	4. Good Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three more meetings between Buffy and Spike that they didn't want you to know about.

Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh

 

Meeting: Foes and Funding

 

“That’s it Giles - I’ve had it for tonight! If there are more vamps around, then they can have a get out of jail free card!” Buffy slumped down against a gravestone and stared round the cemetery. This one was heavily wooded with steep slopes leading up to the roadway. She and Giles had been patrolling all evening and had dispatched seven vamps and two demons.

“Can you sense more of them?” Rupert Giles sank down on the grass next to her. If Buffy was exhausted, he was shattered, trying to keep up.

Buffy lifted her head, pushed back her hair and scented the air. Oh no, she groaned inwardly. Not him! Not tonight. Whenever most vampires were around, she could sense them, but she couldn’t pick out individuals. Even Angel had just been ‘vampire’ to her.

But the scent of William the Bloody seemed to have got into her nerve endings in some weird way. She could almost taste it. A weird combination - leather, cigarettes, whisky and - she mentally shook her head - man! She always knew when he was around. And he was here again tonight. Perhaps if she just ignored him, he’d go away, because she knew she was too tired to fight him. “Might just be the scent from the dust they left behind floating in the air,” she said vaguely in reply to her Watcher’s question.

“Perhaps we should get some more help with the patrolling,” Giles said. “We do seem to have demons jumping out of the woodwork - or rather out of the grass - lately.”

“Help? What a lovely word. Hey, Giles, do you think if we asked, the Council would pay for me to have a couple of full time assistants? Proper trained ones, not just Xander and Willow when they aren’t busy.”

It was a flippant remark, made to take her mind off the fact that Spike was standing behind the crypt to her left and she wanted to ignore him. To her surprise, Giles took what she was saying seriously. “Paid help? Well, I don’t think it’s ever been done before, Buffy, but - ” He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his tie. “I can’t see any harm in asking.”

Buffy swung round to look at him. “Really?”

“Well, the Council always have certain intrinsic contingency funds set aside to facilitate the emergence of axiomatic stipulations.”

“Giles - I know we are two countries separated by one language, but at the moment I am a whole universe away from knowing what you just said.” She dusted her hands together sharply, so Giles couldn’t hear the sarcastic, “Why not buy a soddin’ dictionary, then, Slayer!” that came from behind the crypt.

Giles smiled. “Yes, there is money available if the Council think it is needed, Buffy. Funding might well be your short term answer.”

Buffy jumped up and pulled Giles to his feet. “Yes,” she said loudly. “Money, funding, cash. Then any vampire who was stupid enough to lurk around Sunnydale would need to start worrying in case he got exactly what he deserved!”

She linked arms with Giles and headed for home, a little smile playing round her lips. She was delighted: game, set and match to her! Neither of them saw the dark Commando type figures making their way through the trees.

Neither did Spike!

 

Meeting: All Tied Up

Buffy couldn’t sleep. She’d crashed out in Giles’s spare bedroom after the Thanksgiving dinner and the battle with the Indians. Willow, Xander and Anya had left, clutching large foil wrapped parcels of leftovers. Giles had gone to bed carrying a glass of whisky which he insisted was purely medicinal.

Buffy crept downstairs in the dark wearing just her knickers and a vast cotton vest that Giles had found for her the night before. She needed a drink of water. Moonlight cut through the windows where the shutters had been left open a little and she almost leapt out of her skin when a voice said, “What sort of demented fashion statement is that supposed to make, Slayer?”

“What? Spike? Where are you?”

“Where the bleeding hell do you think I am? Still tied to the soddin’ chair sitting at the soddin’ table. You wankers all went to bed and left me here.”

Buffy tiptoed across the room. Her eyes were accustomed to the dark now and she could see her platinum blond enemy glaring at her. “Well, we weren’t going to let you roam around the house while we were asleep, stupid,” she commented dryly.

The sapphire eyes gleamed up at her under dark brows and she found herself wondering, for no good reason, why he'd been favoured with such incredibly long lashes. It really was extremely unfair. “I need a drink of water,” she said.

“I need a drink of blood.”

“Well, you’re going to have to wait until tomorrow. We’ll get you some pig’s blood from the butcher.”

“Uggh.”

“That or starve, Spike. You decide.”

“Can I at least have a beer since you’re up. And there might be some of those cheesy little snack things left - if Xander didn’t pig out on them.”

“What? No you can’t,” she whispered. “This isn’t some sort of party.” She flounced out into the kitchen, gulped down a glass of water, then hesitated and cursing under her breath, opened the fridge and found a can of beer. Popping the top, the walked back and held it in front of Spike’s face. “There! Now will you shut up.”

“Oh right, and just how the bloody hell do you expect me to drink it, Slayer? Can’t you untie me for a second or two?”

“In your dreams!”

Spike raised an eyebrow at her and nodded. “Well, you’re showing me so much of your body that my dreams will probably be nightmares, Goldilocks.”

Buffy glanced down and gave a little yelp. Giles’ vest, sagging from much washing, had slid down and one round breast and rosy nipple were exposed. She hauled the top up and glared at Spike, daring him to say any more. She thrust the beer can to his lips, tipped it up and his muscular throat rippled as he swallowed convulsively to stop choking. She giggled as she finally took the can away.

“What’s so funny - apart from ice cold beer which is an abomination only you Yanks could invent. Haven’t you even heard of real ale?”

“You’ve got a frothy white moustache, Spike. It sort of suits you.”

Spike ran his tongue across his top lip and she watched, fascinated, as the foam vanished. His tongue came out again and the tip worked its way across his lower lip. Buffy couldn’t tear her gaze from the glistening softness. Her breath shortened and she knew she was standing too close to the vampire and her vest had slipped again and -

The moon vanished behind a cloud and the room plunged into darkness. All she could see was the gleam from his eyes and that mouth, that tongue - the cold, clever tip circling her nipple, then the rough flat part licking the hard rosy bud, once, twice - then -

The stairs creaked violently as Buffy raced up them to the safety of Giles’ spare room. But although she couldn’t sleep, she would tell herself all next day that she’d been dreaming, that she certainly hadn’t let Spike kiss her breast . That had been a figment of her vivid imagination fueled by too much brandy in the sauce.

Tied to the chair, Spike slept with a smile on his face and woke in the morning - wondering.

 

Meeting: Agony Aunt

The Greyhound bus from L.A. had been delayed getting back to Sunnydale. Buffy was dog tired. She needed a shower and bed and then probably another shower, she decided. She wondered if she ought to do a quick patrol before she went home. Her trip to see Angel had left her feeling miserable: she needed to kill something - quick! Crossing the road, she noticed a light still on at Giles’s: he must be working late. She sighed; she’d better tell him she was home and hoped she wasn’t in for a long lecture about vampire boyfriends.

The front door opened under her hand. When would he ever learn to lock it? She hesitated, as she realised the light she was seeing was from a TV set. Walking in through the doorway of the downstairs bathroom, she stood, amazed, staring at the sight of Spike, illuminated by the light from the TV screen. The vampire was chained, lying back in the bath, watching the TV which had been poised on a shelf at the end of the tub.

The chains chinked as he moved and the light shone on his brilliant blue gaze as he looked up at her from under those irritatingly long black lashes. “You ought to work on the Slayer stealth bit, pet,” he drawled. “Heard you coming a block away. Smelt you, too. Well, smelt the ponce’s hair gel on you, actually.”

“Shut up, Spike,” Buffy said automatically. “What are you doing in the bath?”

“Playing the soddin’ banjo!” Spike fired back at her, irritated. “What the bloody hell do you think I’m doing, Slayer? Your Watcher decided he wanted me out of the dining-room. At least I can stretch out in the bath. Mind you, could prove difficult when I want to wash. I might need help getting my jeans off. Like to help?”

“Pig!” Buffy sat on the edge of the tub and stared at him. How on earth had they got to this stage with William the Bloody? It seemed so unfair when Angel couldn’t -

“So how was the Great Irish Wanker?” Spike asked, laying back and tapping his boots together.

“Fine,” Buffy replied shortly.

“Oh, yes, I bet. That’s why you’ve got great dark shadows under your eyes, and a mouth that looks like a prune.”

Buffy resisted the urge to leap up and check in a mirror. “You can’t possibly know what I look like in this light,” she said crossly.

“Vampire vision, sweetheart, remember? So, you don’t want to talk about Liam, then?”

There was a long silence. Buffy did want to talk about Angel, but not to Spike.

Suddenly there was a rattle of chains and a slim, cold finger gently touched hers where they were clenched convulsively round the rim of the bath tub. “If I told you he wasn’t worth one single tear of the many you’ve shed over him, would you feel it necessary to stake me?” came the English voice out of the darkness.

Buffy felt a reluctant smile cross her face and her fists relaxed under the cool stroking motion. “Probably. You know nothing about us and how we feel.”

“Nothing? I know about love, Buffy. And I’ve known Liam for over a hundred years. What’s the old saying, ‘you can choose your friends but not your family.’ He looks inwards the whole time - at what he’s feeling, what he’s doing. His women always, always come second. You’re better out of it. Believe me.”

“You sound like one of those Agony Aunts writing in a trashy magazine! Auntie Spike’s Advice Column. Hey, it could catch on.”

Spike snorted and whisked his finger away. He grinned to himself. He’d achieved what he’d set out to do - make her smile. God knows why! But it really annoyed him that his Sire could make her so unhappy. If anyone was going to upset the Slayer, it should be him. “Let’s face it, Slayer, with your lousy choice of boyfriends, I could write a whole book of advice.”

Buffy jumped up, her dark mood vanishing. Honestly, Spike was so full of it. She didn’t know why she was sitting here in the dark, talking to the evil undead. “Writing a book means using words of more than one syllable,” she said sweetly, and turning, flicked off the TV and swept out of the bathroom, ignoring the vampire's roars of "Turn it back on!” as she left.

to be continued


	5. Who Hates the Most?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spike and Buffy have bath time chats.

Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh

Meeting: Warm, red and salty

“Giles! Make her stop!” Spike yelled as the Watcher walked out on them, irritated by their bickering.

Buffy giggled. She could hear Giles in the other room telling Willow that if they didn’t kill each other, he might. She leant over Spike in the bath tub again, whispering, “Go on, Spikey. Take a little bite. All warm and red and salty.”

The chains rattled violently as the vampire tried to get to her, his dark blue eyes blazing with hunger. “You’re just a big tease, Slayer,” he hissed, the straw from his blood snack still in his mouth. “Is that how you get yourself off now that Peaches has left you high and dry?”

Buffy sat up straight on the edge of the bath. “I am not a tease,” she snapped crossly. “And I don’t need to ‘get myself off’ as you so politely put it.”

Spike raised an eyebrow at her and leaned back against the white enamel. “What, no passion running through your veins, Slayer? No little aches or itches that you can’t scratch yourself?”

Buffy felt her face going as red as her sweater. “Shut up, Spike,” she hissed under her breath, glancing backwards to make sure Giles wasn’t within earshot. She would die of embarrassment if he heard what they were talking about. But luckily she could hear him still chatting with Willow - something about a truth spell.

“Make me!”

She gazed down at him. God, he was so irritating. He now had the straw in the centre of his mouth. Even as she looked, he pursed his lips round it and waved it up and down just as if - She was going to kill him! That was so rude, so completely unnecessary. Just because a couple of nights ago at Thanksgiving she‘d been a little tipsy and in the dark she’d let Spike kiss - well, not kiss, more like nibble her breast. Now he thought he could make sexy gestures at her and she would - what - ? Let him kiss her again. As if that was going to happen!

“Giles and Willow are going to do a truth spell on you,” she said. “So there! They’ll force you to tell us all you know about the Initiative.”

A smile twitched the lips still holding the straw. He shifted it to one side again. “Funny things, truth spells, Slayer. All sorts of little nasties can coming creeping out of your mind. I wonder what they’d find if you took one?”

She watched, fascinated, as the straw slid back across that full bottom lip and he sucked hard at the little drop of blood still inside it. Why were his lips such a beautiful shape? God, where did that thought come from? A truth spell. She pressed her legs together - hard - wishing the edge of the bathtub was a little narrower so she could straddle it and -

Stop it, Buffy! she screamed inside her head. Oh God, a truth drug would show what she wanted to do to herself, wouldn’t it? And that all she could think of when she looked at his mouth was how it would feel to have it sucking at her - Jeez, she'd gone insane. She was going straight to Hell, not stopping, not passing Go. She leapt to her feet, picked up the mug of blood she’d taken away from him only minutes earlier and held it under his chin. The straw stopped its sexy dance and plunged down into the red liquid. He began to suck again, but he wouldn’t stop looking at her and she realised she was leaning further and further towards him...

When sadly - no, bad again! - thankfully, Giles came back into the room.

 

 

Meeting: All Over Again

Spike had been lying in the bath for a couple of days now. It wasn’t that uncomfortable - soddin’ hell, he’d been in far worse places, usually with the addition of pain and torture - and that was just from his family, Angel, Darla and Dru. No, the problem was he had too much time to think. He’d made a joke of it . “Spike’s had a little trip to the vet and can’t play with the other puppies any more.”

Oh, yes, barrel of laughs all round, folks. He rattled the chains, tugging once more in an attempt to free himself, but the Watcher for all his nancy ways, knew how to tie knots. He’d probably been a bloody boy scout. Spike savoured the idea of asking Giles where he kept his woggle when he got returned, then his thoughts swung back to himself again.  
Yes, there was too much time to think. What did the chip in his head mean? He was a vampire, he bit people, he lived on blood, he was evil, for god’s sake. That hadn’t changed. What was he supposed to do for all the centuries that lay ahead of him? Sit around and learn embroidery? Join some poxy midnight gardening club?

He’d heard how Angel had gone down hill fast when he gave up the blood feasting. Munching on rats and other little nasties, cadging coins for bags of pig’s gore from the butcher’s. Was that what lay ahead - brooding and misery and centuries of despair? Spike shut his eyes, digging deep inside him for the courage he knew he would need. No, by god, he wasn’t Liam. He’d never suffered from that bloody boring Irish melancholy. Good for pulling the birds, he supposed, but not for him. He would find a way to survive on his terms -

Her scent reached him first. She smelt of Spring - light and zingy, foaming pink and white blossom against a bright blue Kent sky on a May day - children laughing, dancing round a Maypole with green and white ribbons in their hands.... His eyes flashed open, confused at a memory that he’d thought had gone a long time ago.

Buffy was standing in the doorway. She looked - Spike licked his lips - eatable. Red top, slinky skirt, her hair long and curly and very blonde. “Going out on the town are we, Slayer?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Spike, but yes. We’re meeting Willow at the Bronze. Help her - well, not that I agree, but you said she was having problems with Oz going and so - ” Buffy bit her lip. “I just came round to tell Giles where I’d be if I’m needed, but he’s not here.”

“Believe it or not, Slayer, he’s gone to the sodding Library. He’s got enough books in here to open one of his own, but no, he needs to go to the official Sunnydale Library. I’d reckon he had a bint there, if he wasn’t so old. I’ll tell him you called when he gets back. Shut the door as you go. It’s draughty - and I’m in the bath!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve got all your clothes on.” She peered hastily into the tub to make sure he had! “Anyway, thanks.”

“Oh, think nothing of it, Slayer. I mean what else do I have to do but lie around and be your bleedin’ messenger boy? Of course, you could always unchain me and let me come with you. I’d promise to behave - if you want me to.” He leered up at her from under raised black eyebrows and she stepped back hastily.

“In your dreams, Spike!”

“Lots of things happen in my dreams, Slayer.” He laughed and she refused to let her face go red. “So has wolf boy gone for good?”

“I don‘t know. Maybe.”

“He‘s discovering how difficult it is to be different,” Spike said softly, almost to himself. Then he shot her a glance that cut through her assumed indifference. “It’s a hard lesson to learn. You know that, Slayer. I know that. And with this chip in my bonce, I reckon I’m just about to learn it all over again. The danger will be that Red will want to be different, too, now. That’s when you’ll need to watch her.”

Buffy nodded thoughtfully. “OK. I’ll watch. We’ll all watch.” She started to walk away, towards her friends, to music and dancing and fun, then hesitated. She banished the stupid thought that she and Spike had sounded like some old married couple, sharing their problems, searching for a solution. She turned and looked down at the platinum blond head, the cheek bones that slashed upwards under his pale skin. Spike seemed to see some things so clearly. Probably because he hated them all so much. But what was it about Willow that concerned him so deeply? She stared down at the vampire she hated most in all the world who was entertaining himself by lying in the bath tub, eyes shut, tapping his dusty black boots together and humming along to a tune only he could hear inside his head. She hated men who hummed! "What do you mean about Willow wanting to be different?" she asked.

One bright blue eye opened and gazed at her. “Oh, you’re back, Slayer. Didn’t get very far then? Can you turn on the telly for me?”

Buffy bent down and pulled the plug out of its socket with one swift movement. Ignoring Spike’s roars of anger, she sat on the edge of the bath and waved the plug in front of his face. “Tell me, bleach boy,” she said, “or the TV dies for good!”

Spike growled under his breath, rattled the chains that held him, then relaxed back, a little smile curving his mouth. She found herself gazing down at that full lower lip, wondering.... “So, talk!” she snapped, forcing herself to concentrate on what was important.

Spike sighed. Sometimes he forgot just how young and inexperienced the Slayer was as a person. Great Slayer, good killer and all that, but as a human being, a mere child.  
“When something huge and bad happens in your life, it isn’t enough just to carry on as you were before. You feel compelled to change everything - your friends, your job, your way of life, even yourself.”

“I didn’t feel like that when Angel left.”

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow. “I said huge and bad, Slayer, not petty and good!”

Buffy felt herself going red. Ignoring his words - which she would remember over and over again in the depths of the night - she asked, “And is that what happened to you?”

Spike’s sarcastic expression vanished for a second and Buffy blinked as she thought she saw a glimpse of someone - well, it was a ridiculous word to use where Spike was concerned - but someone vulnerable.

“Exactly, sweetheart. Well, to be fair, my life was changed for me by my dark princess, but once that had happened, after I died, I wanted to be different, live in a different world with new people.”

“Spike, you went to live with vampires,” Buffy broke in. “Anyway, being turned doesn’t count. We were talking about Willow.”

“Oz has left her. Her first boyfriend. The only guy who’s ever seen her as anything but a pal, a friend, if I’m not wrong. I take it her unrequited love for the whelp was never returned?’

“What? Who? What? Oh, Xander, no. They’ve known each other since they were children.”

Spike shrugged and wriggled deeper into the bath. “So, here was wolf boy, making Red believe that although Xander didn’t think so, she was, in fact, a normal attractive female. And now he’s gone and shattered all that belief into tiny little pieces.”

“But she’ll get over him.” Buffy hugged herself. “We all get over people.”

Spike gazed up at her. Did she really believe that? Then she’d never truly been in love. One day, he realised, she would fall for someone so hard that she wouldn’t even believe it herself. And he wondered why that annoyed him so much. “She’ll get over it by deciding to be a different Willow,” he said gently. “And she’ll use everything in her power to make that happen.”

Buffy felt a surge of despair. She had so much to contend with in her life at the moment. Willow’s problems just seemed like one burden too many. She hadn’t changed when she lost Angel, or when she died. OK, she’d run off to L.A. after the Master, but she’d come back and was still herself. If she could die and not alter, then why was Willow such a mess?

She jumped up off the bath. She was going to be late for the Bronze. Goodness knows why she was sitting here having a discussion with Mr Evil Dead himself. “I think you‘re making it all up to distract me,” she said. “If you want to talk about something interesting, get remembering all you can about the Initiative.”

Spike smiled lazily. “I’m too stressed to remember anything,” he purred. “I need my neck rubbed. Any offers?”

Buffy flounced to the door.

“Oi, what about the TV plug?” Spike shouted angrily.

“You shove it in!” Buffy snapped and went red to the tips of her ears which rang with Spike’s laughing words, ‘Promises! Promises!” following her all the way down the street!

another meeting follows soon


	6. Just a Spell?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More moments between Spike and Buffy that they didn't want you to know about.

Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh

Meeting: Always Laughing

“Ow!” Buffy’s fist smacked hard into Spike’s nose and he roared in pain and sank to his knees in the torn up grass and earth. “Mind the nose, Slayer! That bloody well hurt.”

“It was meant to. You hit me first.”

“And now I’ve got a broken nose to go with my splitting headache.”

Buffy pulled a length of rope out of her pocket. “Are you going to let me tie you up, or have I got to hit you again?” she asked in exasperation. “You know I’m taking you back to Giles, so you might as well give in.”

Spike stared gloomily at where he’d tried to find the entrance to the Initiative caverns. “I wasn’t trying to escape,” he muttered, dabbing at the blood seeping down his upper lip and licking at it with a tongue that, to Buffy’s mind was far too long and pink and....

“I just wanted them to fix my head. Get the chip out. Make me myself again.”

Buffy hesitated. He looked sort of pathetic, kneeling at her feet. “Look, Spike, I know it must be difficult for you, but it’s happened and we need to know everything you can tell us about those commando guys. And do stop licking your nose blood. It’s gross! Mega gross!”

Spike sat back on his heels and glared up at her. It was deeply shaming to be hit so hard by something that small and slender. The crinkled blonde hair, the smudged make up round her eyes; she looked like a child who’d just gotten out of bed. He raised an eyebrow at the rope in her hands. “Keen for a bit of bondage, are we, luv? Didn’t know you and Peaches went in for that sort of thing. Well, I knew Liam did, of course. He taught me. Used to tie us all up, me Darla and Dru and leave us for days to see which one of us could get free first. Mind you, he taught us other tricks to play when you’re tied up. Like me to demonstrate?”

Buffy glared down at him. “Spike, if you don’t shut up, I really will break your nose. Stand up!”

In one lithe, graceful movement he was on his feet in front of her, black leather coat swaying round him. She had a silly thought - she’d never seen Spike make an ungraceful movement in all the time she’d known him. Fighting, stalking, sitting or standing, he had a sort of natural elegance. She blinked hard. Natural elegance. Which stupid romance novel had that phrase come from? This was Spike, evil, living dead evil guy. “Hold your arms up!” she commanded briefly.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Tempt me.”

“What?”

“Well, I can fight and we’ll both get hurt and it’ll waste a lot of time when you could be home tucked up in bed asleep. Or - you could tempt me and I’ll let you tie me up.”

Buffy stared at him and shivered. This was ridiculous, but there was a smidgeon of sense in what he was saying. “What do you want?”

“Kiss me!”

“Uggh. In your dreams!”

“One little kiss and no fuss and bother. Sounds like a good trade to me, Slayer.”

Buffy took a deep breath and stepped closer. She needed to pass the rope round him and tie it, but it wasn’t very long and she had to move even closer to pull it close and knot it. If he started fighting, even with the pain the chip gave him, they could be here ages and she wanted to get back to Willow.

She didn’t believe she was doing this, but “Shut your eyes!” she snapped and obediently the long dark lashes flicked down. She stared at his mouth, the shape of it made her feel odd. Knowing that if anyone else ever knew about this she’d never live it down, she reached up - just a little way, how odd, unlike her and Angel, they fitted together so well - and let her mouth touch his. She’d meant to just drop the lightest kiss on him, but somehow it was hard to break away and his mouth was opening under hers and his cold tongue was sliding across her bottom lip to tangle with hers and the world was spinning and her legs didn’t want to hold her up any more and -

“Enough!” She broke the contact and could feel the breath he didn’t need - and why did he bother breathing? - tickling her ear as she slid the rope round him. She was so close, his chest was touching her breasts where her jacket had fallen open. She knew if she looked up, those dark blue eyes would be staring straight at her and they’d be laughing. Even when he was hitting her, swearing eternal vengeance, threatening to kill her, she always had the impression that behind his eyes, he was laughing at her. No, not at her, with her.

“That’s bloody tight,” he objected at last as she pulled the knot firmly into place. “You might have broken a rib.”

“Don’t tempt me, Spike!”

“Are we going to walk down the street like this? As if I’m your dog on a lead? Tut, tut, Buffy. What will the neighbours think?”

Buffy glared again. The last thing she wanted was people telling her mother that she’d been dragging a strange man around on the end of a rope. Biting her lip, she held the tether with one hand and linked the other through Spike’s arm. “We’ll walk back to Giles’ like this,” she hissed.

“Um, cosy, love,” Spike purred. “We’ll look as if we’ve just got married and are walking down the aisle.”

And to her horror, he insisted on humming the Wedding March all the way to the front door and refused to stop. God, Spike as her husband! The very thought made her sick to her stomach and was obviously the reason why she had funny tremors running down the backs of her legs, making her thighs tingle and giving her funny little aches and itches somewhere she refused to think about.

Oh gross! There was no spell on earth that would ever make her see him in that way.

 

Meeting: Key and Lock

If looks could kill there would have been a dead Slayer and a pile of dust on Giles’ living-room floor. Blue eyes and green fought for dominance, almost burning a visible path of light through the small space between their faces.

‘God, how I hate him,’ Buffy thought, her pulse racing, wishing she had a reason for punching Spike again, just to feel her flesh against his.

‘God, how I detest her,’ Spike thought, wondering why he had this fantasy of biting her bottom lip, not to taste the blood, but just because he wanted to hear her squeak and wriggle in his arms...

She’d never felt such a powerful emotion before in her life. Her love for Angel, her mother, her friends, all faded away before this ache of sensation. It was as if all the feelings she’d ever had for Spike were inside her, locked away behind a wall. It would only take one little nudge to send the whole thing crashing and everything would come pouring out and her life would change for ever.....

He was shaking with the power of the feelings roaring through his body. He could just about control them, as if they were a great pack of wolves he had on leashes. But if he once let them get away from him, then everything in the world would change and never be the same again....

The moment came, a spell from an unhappy witch finished the work the two of them had already started. The wall fell and the wolves ran free.

Everything that had seemed so difficult, so impossible, suddenly became very simple. They belonged together, so why were they apart? Spike slid to his knees. “Buffy,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, “I know I’ve no right to ask, but I love you so much. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

He pulled a heavy silver ring from his finger and, before she could reply, slid it onto her hand. There! The circle was complete, key and lock mated together, her flesh was inside a part of him as very soon he’d be inside her.

Blue gaze and green met again, and this time the tenderness and passion shut out the whole world.

 

 

Meeting: No Satisfaction

 

Buffy squirmed herself more firmly onto Spike’s lap and gazed dreamily down into his blue, blue eyes. Giles had staggered off to the bathroom. He seemed to be intent on putting more and more drops in his eyes. Really, he was getting quite obsessive about his sight. Buffy put it down to middle aged vanity.

“Well, then, we’ll have Wind Beneath my Wings for the first dance. I love that song. It’s so romantic. Now, you get to choose the next tune.”

Spike growled deep in his chest and shifted her backwards and forwards on his lap. She felt the colour flood up into her cheeks, and felt something else coming up as well....

“Can I have the Stones singing “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction,” he muttered.

Buffy gulped. “No you can’t! This is our wedding, Spike. What will people think?”

“Think what they bloody well like, pet. It’s true, isn’t it? You’re a tease, Slayer. You get a fellow going and then start talking about ice statues and sodding bridesmaids’ dresses.”

“Sssh! Giles might come back. You’ll get plenty of - satisfaction thingy - when we’re married. And it’s hard to decide whether to have Willow in orange satin or pale blue velvet.”

Spike pulled her head down, his lips close to her ear and ran his tongue swiftly over the lobe, grinning as she shuddered in a satisfactory fashion. “As long as I can have you wearing nothing, sweetheart, I don’t care what the rest of your gang wear.”

“Behave!”

The vampire groaned. “Oh Slayer, I want to behave. I want to behave to you just the way you need me to. I don’t want to wait until the wedding. Hey, I might get staked by someone before then. Then what would you do?”

Buffy pulled away from the mischievous tongue that was tracing a path down her neck. “Don’t say things like that, even in fun, Spike. I’d die if you - ”

“Became a big pile of dust?”

“Stop it!”

“Could happen, pet. Xander’s not keen on me for a start and when he discovers you want him to wear a kilt for the wedding, I reckon he’ll be all set to find a stake with the most pointed end he can.”

Buffy pouted. “I think kilts are fun things. Giles will look great in one and so will Xander. You - ”

Spike’s hand clamped over her mouth. “Not one more word, missy, or you’ll be over my lap upside down with my hand on another part of your anatomy! I am not wearing a sodding kilt, so forget it.”

Buffy licked his palm and smiled as she watched the hunger grow in his eyes. She felt odd. Desperately in love and desperate to marry Spike, but it was almost as if they were two different feelings inside her.

The wedding was important - it consumed every second of her thoughts - but the love, the passion, the desire - that wasn’t from her brain, it seemed to be coming from every nerve ending in her body and the thought of him dying and not being there for her was unbearable. She sighed and relaxed as he lazily pulled her closer and began to kiss her properly. His lips were so cold, so right in every way. God, she wanted him so much. She was burning up. Her body ached for the touch of his skin.

The wedding - it was so important. She felt driven to marry Spike - and soon. They had to continue planning the marriage, in every detail. But as his kiss became deeper, more possessive, and his hands began to wander roughly across her breasts, she knew that more than the wedding, in a part of her being she hadn’t known existed, she wanted to make love to him, completely and utterly.

She needed to possess him and by he way he was growling her name, she knew he needed to possess her, too.

another meeting very soon


	7. A Bed of Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two more of the meetings Buffy and Spike would rather you didn't know about.

Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh

Meeting : Just a Spell

 

Oh my God, this was dreadful, Buffy thought. She had to get to Riley fast and tell him that she’d been making it all up. Of course she wasn’t going to marry an older guy called Spike. Of course she wasn’t in love with him. How hideously ridiculous was that! Obviously she couldn’t tell Riley the truth - that she’d been under a spell cast by her best friend. No, not a good idea. But she would think of some other excuse. OK, yes, that would do - she would use the expression on his face when he’d seen her looking at that wedding dress. She’d make up a good story. Lying, of course, was the one thing she never needed to practice. She could have passed any exam in the world on not telling the truth.

Riley was such a nice, normal guy. And she needed nice and normal in her life. She didn’t need the bad boys, the ones who broke your heart, or the ones who stole into it and made it their own, whether you wanted them to or not.

Buffy spun round to grab her jacket and came face to face with the vampire she’d been engaged to, sitting, being irritating, licking cookie crumbs off his lips -

\- why could she remember the taste of those lips so well, feel them on her mouth, on her breasts, on her -

What rubbish. She was imagining all these sensations. Nothing had happened between them. Okay, not nothing - a few kisses, perhaps, that was all. No biggie. No crime. Nothing to get so hot and bothered about. It had been just a spell and she was fast forgetting -

\- returning to Giles’ house from seeing Riley outside the wedding boutique.

And she’d been worried about her Watcher and his blindness, so she’d gone straight indoors to check on him, hadn’t she? Of course she had -

“What?” she hissed at Spike now as he raised an eyebrow at her and glared.

“Nothing, Slayer. Just dealing with a nasty memory I’m trying to wipe out of my mind before it makes me violently sick.”

His blue eyes blazed at her and her body acted the traitor and quivered shamefully because it was reacting to his body and although she fought hard to close down her brain, she knew he’d been -

\- waiting for her in the dark courtyard of Giles’ house. Where only recently the Indians had gathered on Thanksgiving to attack them. As she passed, a hand reached from the shadows and effortlessly pulled her close.

‘Spike! What are you doing out here?”

“Crowded in there, pet.”

“I’ve just seen the most beautiful wedding dress. You’ll love it - well, no, you probably won’t because it’s white and frilly, not black, but I love it and now all we’ve got to decide is if you’re going to wear a blue tux or red!”

Spike bent his head and stopped her talking by kissing her. Not the gentle, laughing flirt, this time, but the lover of her darkest dreams. Her hands twined round his neck as his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her even closer, so every inch of her body was pressed against his.

“No more talking,” he muttered, breaking away to kiss her throat, sliding his cold hands under her top to the soft skin that welcomed him with a flush of heat. “No more waiting, Buffy. Need you now.”

“Spike - oh god - no, we mustn’t. Not here. Someone will see. Oh god, stop - no don’t stop doing that - please - please - ”

He spun her round into the darkest corner of the courtyard - the roaring in her ears preceding the desire that flooded through her - the desire that had been growing every hour and wouldn’t be denied. They were on the ground, tearing at clothes that were in the way, needing each other - needing to feel, desperate to be one.

Then he was inside her and for an instant she thought she was going to die. So big, so cold, filling her in a way that she’d never imagined possible in her naughtiest dreams. Then the pounding began – on and on and on - until she came, her screams lost in his mouth as seconds later his groans were buried in her breasts.

This had nothing to do with marrying him; somewhere deep down, Buffy knew that. This had everything to do with consummating something with this man that was overpowering, completing a circle, key and lock, accepting a destiny that they might not want or realise for years, but once this had happened, nothing could stop it. Nothing!

No! Buffy flinched now, her eyes widening as the memory of what they’d done, how the vampire had made her feel, burned through her brain. These memories were just part of the spell, she told herself again, desperately. She could never have felt like that, given herself so readily to Spike of all people. He wasn’t Angel; he had no soul. He was evil, she was good. Even under the influence of a silly spell, she would never, could never - not with another vampire, not with Spike - oh God!

Now the sapphire gaze held hers against her will and she wondered, for a fleeting second, what would have happened if Willow hadn’t reversed the spell. And what shocked her even more than the memories, was that she felt - just for a moment - an overpowering sense of regret.

Using every ounce of Slayer will-power, she forced the memory back - back - back into the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind. She and Spike had never touched each other like that, never whispered hoarse words of desire as they made mad, passionate love, outside in the dark courtyard, not once, not twice, but……

“It never happened!” she whispered violently to him now.

“Bloody hell. No, of course it sodding didn’t,” Spike snapped back and neither of them thought to query the remarkable fact that he didn’t need to ask what she was talking about.

“Just magic, that’s all. It was only Willow’s spell that made us - ” she muttered and before he could reply, she ran from the house to find her nice, safe boyfriend and convince him with smiles and laughter that she was exactly the same girl she’d been two days earlier.

But, of course, she wasn’t.

 

Meeting: No Bed of Roses

“Right, are you ready, Spike? I promised Giles I’d take you over to Xander’s tonight.” Buffy hurried into the house, desperate to get this chore out of the way as she had a date with Riley.

The vampire was lying full length on Giles’ sofa, hands clasped behind his head, boots scuffing the cushions. “I’d rather be dust than live with the whelp!”

“That can very easily be arranged. Now get up. We’ve got to go.”

“Buffy - ” He swung his legs to the floor and she caught at a random thought that flashed through her brain. Cat like, every movement he made. Sinuous, elegant.

He gazed up at her and if she hadn’t known otherwise, she would have said Spike was trying to be winsome.

“If you make me do this, I could go evil again.”

“Not unless Xander has developed some outstanding military medical skills we know nothing about and is stupid enough to take out your pretty little chip.”

Spike frowned. “I still don’t see why I have to leave here. Just because your bloody Watcher wants to shag his girl friend - and by the way, don’t you think he’s far too old for that sort of thing - I have to go and live in a smelly damp basement.”

Buffy sighed. God he was so annoying. “Xander’s basement is not damp and it wouldn’t be smelly if he did his laundry more regularly. Hey, maybe you can give him a hand there.”

She smiled brightly at the deep scowl her words produced. “And anyway, Spike, you’re a vampire. Not a very good one, admittedly, but damp and smelly won’t be anything you haven’t experienced before. So get over it.”

She wasn’t going to tell him that her first idea had been to let him find a nice quiet crypt somewhere close by where she could keep an eye on him. But Giles had thought it a bad idea. He’d polished his glasses, pursed his lips and muttered that Slayers shouldn’t get involved with vampires, even chipped ones.

Buffy had refrained from mentioning Angel - she knew exactly what Giles would say. And she had to admit he had a point. But Spike wasn’t Angel. She wasn’t in love with Spike. God what a sick thought! The very idea of him touching her, kissing her, making love to her - she felt a slow flush of heat rising up her body and in front of her, Spike lifted his head sharply, scenting, questing -

Buffy pushed her thoughts aside. “No, you’re going to Xander’s. And you’d better behave because you know he isn’t too happy about it. And that’s putting it mildly.”

Spike flung himself back onto the sofa and Buffy tried hard to stop her lips twitching. He looked so sulky, like a small boy who’d been told he couldn’t watch his favourite TV programme. The Big Bad seemed to have turned into a Small Nuisance. But she knew that if the chip stopped working, William the Bloody would be back instantly, causing as much mayhem as he possibly could. “It won’t be that dreadful,” she said cheerfully. “Xander’s out all day and in the evenings he and Anya - ”

Spike sat up, his sapphire eyes wide with horror. “Bloody Hell, Slayer. You don’t expect me to sit there and listen to them shag, do you?”

“ - they go out a lot. To the Bronze and movies and - well, they go out a lot. I appreciate that it won’t be easy for you, but jeez, Spike, we’re not here to make your life a bed of roses, you know.”

Spike grinned. “Have you ever slept on a bed of roses, Slayer? I have - in Paris. Bloody uncomfortable, I can tell you. Dru spent hours collecting them from every garden and cemetery she could find. Trouble was, she didn’t bother to cut the thorns off before she covered the bed with them, so without our clothes on, things got a little scratchy, if you know what I mean.”

“Spike - ! ” Buffy said warningly.

“Would you like to see the scars. Still have some and as we’re alone - ” He reached for the clasp on his jeans and Buffy yelped and batted his hand away.

“Spike, you’re just wasting time. Do you want me to knock you unconscious and carry you to Xander’s?”

There was a glitter from under his thick dark lashes. “Think you could, Slayer?”

Buffy faced up to him, hands on hips. “I know I could. Just don’t challenge me to prove it.”

Abruptly, the vampire rolled off the sofa and stood up, stretching. Buffy took a couple of steps backwards. He wasn’t as tall as Angel but when he was close to her, he seemed to take all the air from her lungs, crowd her space, and she actually felt a little dizzy.

One day she knew she would have to research with Giles this strange effect Spike had on her physical being. There was sure to be something in one of his many books about vampires and how Slayers reacted to them. She was getting a bit tired of this fluey feeling she often had when Spike was around.

“Right, let’s go then,” he said suddenly.

Buffy glanced round the room and Spike guessed immediately what was going through her mind. “Don’t worry. I’ve nothing to take with me, Slayer. And there’s nothing worth nicking here now we’ve drunk all the Watcher’s sodding whisky.’

Buffy bit her lip and motioned him to walk in front of her. For a few seconds she’d been in the ridiculous position of feeling sorry for the vampire. To have absolutely nothing in the whole world and no one to care what happened to you, even if you were a member of the living dead, seemed – well — sad.

And as they headed out into the dark Sunnydale night, Buffy didn’t stop to wonder how odd it was that she was trying to remember if her mom had any books at home that Spike might find interesting.

another meeting follows shortly


	8. Under her skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three more meetings between Buffy and Spike that they didn't want you to know about.

Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh

 

Meeting: Under her skin

 

Buffy paused at the outside door leading down to Xander’s basement. The fairy lights that he’d fixed across the front of the house were still twinkling, but half the line were trailing along the wall where they’d been blown down in the wind. She winced. Raised drunken voices rang out angrily from inside the house. Mr and Mrs Harris were celebrating Christmas in their own fashion.

Xander and Anya, however, were sitting happily on the sofa in Buffy’s living-room, eating nuts and candy, watching silly films on TV.

After the horror of The Gentleman incident, everyone needed to relax and have fun.  
Joyce Summers was cooking a huge meal, helped by Willow, who kept telling everyone that being Jewish, she didn’t celebrate Christmas, but hey, where else would she be on Christmas Day when both her parents were away.

Buffy opened the door into the basement flat, then paused. She remembered flinging open her own front door a couple of hours ago to find her three friends standing there, Xander and Anya singing carols at her. She’d laughed as she’d ushered them in, then - “What have you done with Spike?” she asked, peering out into the gloomy afternoon street.

“Spike?” Xander said, puzzled. “He’s back in the basement. He wasn’t invited for Christmas, surely?”

“What? Oh, no, of course not.” Buffy laughed briefly, shutting the door behind them and watching as they piled presents under the tree. “I mean, we had enough trouble feeding him at Thanksgiving, didn’t we?”

“I don’t think he’s even awake, Buffy,” Anya said. “He hadn’t come out of his room before we left.”

“Right! Well, can I get anyone a drink? I’ve made punch.”

Willow must have caught something in her tone, because she said swiftly, “I don”t think vampires celebrate Christmas, Buffy. Evil and all that. And Giles is coming over later. He wouldn’t be too pleased to find Spike here.”

Buffy had agreed. The last thing she wanted was the sarcastic tongued vampire in her living-room on Christmas Day. Still - after a couple of hours, she announced, “I’m going to do a quick patrol, then get back for dinner. Don’t eat anything till I’m back. OK?”

“Buffy, surely you don’t need to patrol today?” Xander said.

“Oh, I’ll just race round, grave-yard to grave-yard. I’ll be back before you know it.”

And now she was here, inside Xander’s basement and she didn’t know why. She didn’t want Spike at their Christmas dinner. She didn’t even want to speak to him today. He was an irritation, like a splinter that had lodged under her skin that she couldn't reach to pull out.

“If you’re coming down those steps, Slayer, you might get a move on; you’re letting all the heat out.”

Spike’s drawl made her jump and she hurried down the final few stairs to find him lying slouched in a chair. Scattered on the table in front of him were several magazines; he was reading what looked like - well, there were bodies and she was not going to look any closer. It was obviously something gross!

“You’re a vampire. You’re not bothered by cold air. Anyway, Xander forgot the beer in his fridge,” she said brightly. “I said I’d pick it up as I finished my patrol.”

Spike leant a long arm over the edge of his chair and picking up a can, waved it at her, his sharp gaze taking in the bright red festive top that clung to her breasts, the black leather trousers and high cut boots. “Sorry, all gone, Slayer. Hope it won’t spoil your Christmas cheer.”

“What? Oh no. We’ve got plenty. Honestly, Spike, have you drunk the whole pack already?”

He shrugged. “And a Happy Christmas to you, too, Slayer.”

“Happy - don‘t be silly, Spike. You’re a vampire. You don’t do Christmas.”

Blue eyes, shadowed with dark lashes, he looked bored. “Right. You all having fun?”

“Yes,” Buffy said defiantly, wondering why she was suddenly feeling guilty. “I mean, well, we haven’t eaten dinner yet. Giles is coming over this evening. ”

Spike grinned. “Hey, hey, the gang’s all here! All the fun of the fair, then.” His eyes glittered dangerously and Buffy felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

She didn’t understand the tension in the air. Surely he didn’t expect to be invited to Christmas dinner. This wasn’t like Thanksgiving. Then he’d had nowhere to go to hide from the Initiative. Now he had a safe hiding place here in Xander’s basement and a little gratitude from him wouldn’t have gone amiss.

“Do you want to come back with me for Christmas dinner?” she blurted out

Spike stared up at her. He could see how torn she was, that she was only inviting him out of guilt and although he hated her with a vengeance, there was part of him - buried very deep, but always there - that knew she would be far more relaxed if he wasn’t around tonight. And for some reason that was important to him.

He laughed and waved a hand at the magazines in front of him. “Thanks for the invitation, Slayer, but I reckon I’ll have more fun sitting here enjoying myself - if you get my meaning!”

Buffy wrinkled up her nose in disgust, then wondered why she was feeling both relieved and disappointed at his refusal. “Right, well, as you’ve drunk all Xander’s beer, I’d better get back.”

She stared round the dismal basement; it smelt of damp and dirty clothes and Xander’s over-powering aftershave. She pictured home: the tree glittering with tinsel and candy canes, the wreath on the door, cards and decorations and lots and lots of presents.  
Suddenly she was angry at herself for standing here, worrying about an evil vampire who was obviously anxious to get back to his skin mags.

Buffy fled back up the stairs, into the fresh air. The wind was blowing again, the string of fairy lights had finally hit the ground and gone out and the Harrises had reached a new level of anger in their Christmas shouting match. She headed for home, brushing away stupid tears that the cold wind forced from her eyes.

In the basement, Spike scowled and pushed aside Xander’s girlie magazines that he’d used to hide what he’d had laid out on the table when he scented Buffy outside. The silence of the basement crowded in and a wave of despair swept over him. A vampire who couldn’t bite, couldn’t feed properly. Chipped and controlled. What the hell did he have to live for?

Christmas, no one should be alone at bloody Christmas - why had he ever imagined the Slayer was coming to ask - that they would want him there - how ridiculous and pathetic he was becoming, that he’d half hoped those - those - odious children, the Whelp and his demon tart, Red and the Wanker Watcher would invite him to spend time with them. He thanked all that was evil in the world that she hadn’t seen -

And he smashed both hands down on the pile of little parcels in front of him, destroying the presents he’d taken the time and trouble to steal and stupidly wrap for the people who hated him as much as he hated them.

 

Meeting: Man or Monster

 

Buffy made her way into the kitchen. She could hear the TV in the family room, the murmur of Giles’ voice talking to her mother, a splutter of loud laughter from Xander, Anya giggling. It was peaceful in the kitchen. She took a can of Coke out of the fridge and rolled its coldness against her hot forehead. She’d run all the way home from Spike’s crypt, that was why she was all sweaty girl.

The worktop was covered with different plates of food. Joyce Summers had bought and cooked enough for an army. A rib of beef resting under a cover, a turkey roasting in the oven; vegetables, potatoes, yams, salad and rolls, Buffy could see and smell it, but for some reason it didn’t make her feel hungry.

All this food for just a few people. Her mom had made a cake, too. There was a bowl with the remnants of chocolate frosting on the side. Buffy stuck her finger in it and scooped up a little of the soft sugar. As she licked at it, she found herself wondering what Spike would have eaten for Christmas dinner all those years ago in England when he was an ordinary man. How weird to have had nothing to eat but blood ever since.

Although - she pulled herself together sharply - where Spike was concerned, she knew damn well he ate other things. Only half an hour ago she’d found him drinking beer at Xander’s and eating chips. He’d devoured practically all of Willow’s cookies after the ‘getting engaged’ spell.

She felt her face going red as memories of that time came flooding back. Memories she’d buried so deeply in her mind that she’d thought them gone for ever. The overwhelming emotion she’d felt, the passion, the desire. It was appalling to remember what they’d done in the dark courtyard outside Giles’ house.

Buffy sat down at the table with her drink. She was shivering, even thought the kitchen was warm. She knew she ought to go next door and be festive girl with all the others, but there was plenty of time for that.

The only sure way to get rid or the memories, she decided, was to go through them, one by one, then she could safely discard them and never think again about cool lips and muscular bodies and the sensation of being carried forwards along a river of feeling before they plunged together down a roaring torrent of bliss.

Bliss? The can bent and crumpled in her hand as she tried to wipe the word and memory out of her mind. But it wouldn’t go. She could deny most things in life if she tried hard enough. She’d had enough practice to make perfect. Denying her calling was second nature. Denying other things just followed on, easily, smoothly. Sometimes she didn’t even know she was doing it.

So why couldn’t she deny that she had felt bliss with Spike? That they had made love on the ground, tearing desperately at each other’s clothes, consummating some urge that she did not and never would understand. Was that why she hadn’t wanted him here in her house for Christmas dinner? Because she was scared that somehow her friends and family - her mother! - would look at them and guess what they’d done together?

She knew in her heart of hearts that he would have liked to have joined them for a Christmas meal. Had he refused because he knew she would have been on edge with him there? Did the monster have that much sensitivity? Surely not. He’d just been annoying on principle.

“Buffy?”

She spun round as her mom came into the room, her gentle eyes looking puzzled. “There you are? I was beginning to think you’d got lost.”

“No, just taking a moment. Everything smells good. And I can hear Giles is here. So, are we eating soon?”

Joyce smiled. “Yes, I think so. I don’t suppose you saw Spike when you were patrolling, did you?”

“Spike? Why?”

“Well, I know he’s not a friend - ”

“Mom, that’s the truest thing you’ve ever said!”

“But it’s Christmas, Buffy. A time when we’re supposed to look outside of ourselves and our immediate families to people who are lonely or alone. We’re all here, together, and even Giles is having fun because he knows all the answers to the quiz show questions on TV. I don’t like the thought of anyone I know being alone at Christmas.”

Buffy got up and threw her squashed can into the trash. “He might be spending it with friends. I don’t think vampires ‘do’ Christmas.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I’ll save his present for when I next see him.”

Buffy turned slowly and stared at her mother, her eyes wide and green. “You’ve got Spike a present?”

Joyce looked surprised. “Well, yes. Just a little bottle of Scotch. I know I shouldn’t give him alcohol, but he’s not the easiest person to buy for. I wanted to get him a video of Passions, but I couldn’t find one.”

“Oh!” Her voice sounded small and lost. Her mind was whirling. Her mom wouldn’t have thought it odd if she’d asked Spike to dinner. Joyce‘s compassion was so much greater than hers. “You quite like him, don’t you?” she asked, quietly, staring out of the window at the dark yard beyond.

Joyce Summers’ lips twitched. “Like? That’s the wrong word, Buffy. I’m not stupid, I do know he’s still a monster inside a human form. The man I hit over the head with an axe. But - ”

“But?”

Her mother started to speak, then looked puzzled, as if the words coming from her were unexpected. “Sometimes you meet men who turn out to be monsters. Spike is a monster who somehow always turns out to be more of a man than a lot I’ve known.”

Buffy stiffened. “Well, you’d better lay another place at the table,” she said. “The monster is walking across our back yard!”

 

 

Meeting: Wrong time, wrong place

 

Buffy stared at the coffee dripping down slowly into the glass jug. She could hear laughter coming from the family room. Dinner had finished and for some bizarre reason, Giles wanted to play charades, with Anya’s enthusiastic, if inept help. Joyce had a headache and said she was dying for a cup of coffee.

Buffy couldn’t remember a weirder Christmas meal. OK, Spike had behaved himself. He’d seemed stunned when her mom had flung open the door and called out to him as he crossed the yard, asking him in. And Buffy had noticed he’d thrust something under the porch steps. It had looked suspiciously like a shotgun and she knew she’d have to check on that soon.

He’d sat between Joyce and Giles and although Xander had scowled at him throughout the whole meal, they hadn’t gotten into any word fights at the table, so hey, Christmas spirit all round. Her mom had given him a soup bowl with gravy in it, but Buffy noticed that he’d also managed to eat several slices of turkey and a bowl of ice-cream.

No, the problem had been her reaction to him. He annoyed the heck out of her. She was sitting directly opposite him at the table and it seemed every time she glanced up, those sparkling blue eyes were glinting in her direction. And what was that obscene thing he’d been doing with his tongue when he’d licked the ice-cream spoon!

His gaze had caught hers and she’d felt the heat rising in her face as his tongue flicked out, removing the last speck from the silver surface. It was almost as if he was reminding her of what else he could do with his tongue, reminding her of that dreadful evening in the courtyard outside Giles’ house when they’d been so enthralled by Willow’s spell.

Oh God, why wouldn’t the coffee finish dripping? The sooner they all had a hot drink, the sooner they would think about going home and she could show Spike the door.

The final straw had come when the phone had rung and it had been Riley calling to wish her a Merry Christmas. Even though she’d turned her back on the table as she replied, she could feel Spike’s gaze boring right through her shoulder blades.

“Your mom wants to know if you need any help?”

She jumped as Spike appeared silently in the doorway. “What? No, I’m good. Don’t let us keep you, Spike, if you need to be anywhere else.”

He hitched himself up onto the windowsill and sat, swinging his dusty boots. “Do I detect a note of sarcasm in the Slayer‘s dulcet tones?” he said dryly. “Don’t worry, pet. I’ll clear off soon. Leave the coast clear for soldier boy to clamber up the wall into your waiting arms and open legs. Is that what the phone call was about? Arranging a rendezvous. Not very clever of him, doing it while your mum was around.”

Buffy glared at him. “No rendezvous. No arms or…legs. We’re not – shut up, Spike. It’s none of your business. Friends can wish each other Merry Christmas without there being anything – Oh, just go away. I’m tired and you’ve spoilt my Christmas dinner. I don’t know why Mom wanted you here.”

Spike frowned and for a split second his face shimmered and gold glimmered in his eyes. Then he was back to normal. He felt a rush of anger flood over him. How had he spoilt her evening? By existing? Well, that was her fault. She could have got rid of him a long time ago. Perhaps she should ask herself why she hadn’t. He opened his mouth to speak, then shrugged as two glaring green eyes fixed on him like twin stakes. This wasn’t the time or place to settle this problem.

“Well, evil here, pet, There’s all sorts of ways to hurt someone. And I take it by your whispering down the phone that your Watcher is someone else who doesn’t know about army boy. Out of the loop now, is he? Poor old Rupert.”

He wondered what she would say if he told her exactly how he’d like to be hurting her that night, then pushed the thought away. He could remember the time when they’d been under Willow’s passion spell. Okay, it had been revolting. She was the Slayer, for god’s sake. He‘d been surprised his dick hadn’t dropped off from the contact with all that – but he could feel in every nerve ending exactly what they’d done in the courtyard outside Giles’ house. Oh god, she’d been so hot and tight and –

He jumped down from his perch and headed for the door. “I’ll get out of your way, then, Slayer. Tell Joyce – ”

Buffy felt her temper snap and flung a coffee cup at him. He dodged and it smashed against the wall.

“Buffy!” She heard her mom call, anxiously.

“OK, Mom. Just being clumsy. Coffee’s coming right up.” She spun back to Spike. “Get out, Spike. Now, while you still can. At least Riley is trying to do good in the world, trying to help people. He is what he is, a good man. And what are you? A stupid, pig-headed, toothless vampire. You can’t feed yourself, can’t bite, can’t fight. Jeez, Spike, you’re not even worth the effort of staking. Just go away and stake yourself, why don’t you!”

The door clicked shut and she realised he’d gone into the night. She busied herself with coffee and cups, finding cream and sugar and spoons. Then everything blurred and she realised she had tears in her eyes. Why on earth was she so upset? Oh God, of course, that was it - she’d forgotten to check up on that shotgun she thought she’d seen Spike hide.

How ridiculous to be worrying over something like that. It was Christmas evening; all her friends and family were here. Riley had rung. Things were good. It would soon be 2000, the new millennium. Goodness knows what would happen in the coming year. Spike was an evil vampire. What did it matter what she said to him? No one would ever know. And she refused to feel bad about it. Absolutely refused…….

 

To be continued


	9. Poor Spike Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More meetings between Buffy and Spike that they did not want you to know about. And this time things get very heated.

Never Ever Tell 9

 

Meeting: Toes

 

“Buffy! You have to talk to him. He tried to commit suicide by staking himself.” Willow’s voice on the phone was concerned. She felt sorry for Spike. OK, they had history – what with the trying to kill her and terrifying her rigid on several occasions – but she also had a strange sympathy for someone whose whole life had changed so drastically that he couldn’t quite cope with it.

Her own life was so odd, so different to what she’d imagined it would be even a few months ago. The agony of losing Oz and all the new feelings she was experiencing – well – OK, not go there, but hey, Spike –

“What do you want me to say?” Buffy replied impatiently. “Don’t dust yourself, Spike, we all love you!”

“No, of course not. Don’t be silly. How could you ever love him? Vampire, evil, and not Angel, no soul, I do still realise that. But Buffy, it was like watching a trapped animal trying to gnaw off its own paw, trying to escape.”

“Eewww with the bloody pictures, Will. OK, if I ever see Spike chewing his toes, I promise I’ll try and stop him.”

She hung up the phone at last and decided to go to bed. But she didn’t feel tired: she felt irritable and tense, the blood humming through her veins like quicksilver. And it was all Spike’s fault. She wanted to think about Riley, not worry about the chipped vamp and his toes!

Silly things, toes. Everyone had them; you just didn’t ever consider them. Wondering if Spike painted his toe nails black like his fingernails was just a waste of time. Anyway, he didn‘t. Jeez, how did she know that? When had she ever seen his toes?

From nowhere came a ridiculous thought – she’d read once that the Duchess of York had been caught on camera sucking her lover’s toes. Eewww, she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to suck hers and as for putting a man’s foot anywhere near her mouth – But there are other parts you can suck, said a smug voice in her head and the memory of her and Spike in the dark outside Giles’ house during Willow’s silly spell came burning into her brain.

Ten minutes later she was running through a graveyard, grateful for the wind cold on her burning face. A vamp lurched into her path, fangs gleaming in the moonlight and she staked him without breaking stride.

Oh, god, yes, this was what she needed. Something to ease the tension from her body, drive the memories of toes and – well, memories of toes! out of her head. She would think of her boyfriend, think of Riley Finn. She wondered if they would ever – well, they were both adults and OK, it wouldn’t be the same as Angel, but hey, no soul losing problems so that was a big goodie.

The hairs of the back of her neck twisted in a special fashion that told her one thing. Vampire! And not any vamp – Spike! She spun to a halt. He was sitting cross-legged on top of a gravestone. Xander‘s dreadful Hawaiian clothes had gone and he was back wearing his normal denim and leather. And his boots, covering his toes, she thought with a silent giggle.

“Having a little work out, are we, Slayer? What’s up, lots of little aches and itches and no one to scratch them?”

Buffy twirled the stake in her hand like a baton, and then offered it to him. “Hey, Spike. Wanna borrow this? I hear from Willow that you wanted to end it all, that you’re at last weary of hanging around Sunnydale like some big…big…”

She fought to find the word she wanted, hindered by the raised eyebrow and sardonic grin facing her. “Big exbad,” she came out with weakly.

Spike shrugged. “So I was a little depressed. A little sympathy wouldn’t come amiss. You should try living in the whelp’s basement, Slayer. I’ve known cleaner slime demons’ nests than that. God, I found a plate of pizza pushed under his bed that had bred a whole generation of maggots. My new crypt might be a bit bare, but at least it doesn’t have livestock!”

Buffy stared. “You’ve left Xander’s? You’re living in a crypt?”

Spike jerked his head behind him to where the big studded door of a vast crypt loomed. “Like to come in for a little look around, pet? I could give you the guided tour, eating areas, sleeping arrangements - ” he said with a leer.

“Don’t call me pet,” Buffy said automatically “And no, I have absolutely no desire to see where you’re spending your boring life, Spike.”

The cobalt blue eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “Oh, I don’t think it’s boring, Slayer. Didn‘t your little friends tell you I can kill demons now? The chip in my bonce doesn’t work except for soddin’ humans.”

“That’ll make you popular down at Willie’s Bar,” Buffy said dryly.

Spike uncurled his legs, leant back on his hands and tapped his boots together. “Now, now, Slayer. Sarcasm doesn’t become you. I know what a rotten social life you lead, so if I had any dosh I’d offer to take you to Willie’s for a drink, but I’m skint and I don’t want you treading on everyone‘s toes down there, anyway.”

“I don’t tread on toes,” Buffy snapped. “I don‘t do anything to toes,” she added without thinking.

Spike cocked his head to one side and gazed at the golden hair and green eyes that invaded his dreams on far too regular a basis. His eyes narrowed as a memory - or was it a dream? - zipped across his mind.

The dark outside Giles’s house, hands tugging, pulling, tearing at clothes, boots flying, bare skin, hands everywhere, teeth and fangs, and a hot little mouth that explored every part of his body – including his toes and his - Buffy watched the memory she was fighting to suppress dawn on Spike’s face and felt the colour flood into her cheeks. How could she read his mind she didn’t know, but she could.

“Stop it!” she hissed.

Spike leapt off the gravestone and with two swift strides was in front of her, taking all her air, the smell of leather and cigarettes and blood making her head swim. His hand shot out and grasped her chin, tipping her face up to his. For a long second she thought he was going to kiss her and she tensed, but to her shame didn’t push him away.

Spike stared down into her eyes. She would never back down, he knew that. She was the bravest person he’d ever met and he hated her, every inch of her. And, oh god, he wanted to fuck her so bad he ached. And that was so wrong it was bloody ridiculous. He wanted to tell her – what?

The words in his brain were, ‘Get a life, Slayer!’ but what came out in a hoarse whisper was, “We can’t ever stop it!”

 

Meeting: No Surrender

 

She was nervous, trembling. Her hands felt damp and she had a dreadful desire to giggle girlishly. And she never did anything girlishly. She was the Slayer! But meeting him tonight, in his bedroom! OK, she’d so been invited but what would Willow and Xander think when she told them? Xander would be green with envy and Willow would be all “oh why couldn’t it have been me”.

Buffy knocked at the door and a deep, melodious voice said, “Come in, Buffy.”

She turned the handle and walked in to see – the man of her dreams, Jonathan! He was standing by a large desk, holding a book, and she tried to ignore the fact that a great black-sheeted waterbed was tucked into the alcove on the far side of the room. Jonathan and beds – oh, she so did not want to think about the two things in the same sentence, because since she and Riley were having togetherness problems, sex was not on her nightly agenda.

“How did you know it was me, Jonathan?” she breathed as she walked towards him, glad she’d put on her tightest white top and red leather trousers.

“Oh Buffy, I can always tell when my friends are around,” Jonathan beamed at her, carefully forgetting to mention that he’d watched her approach out of the window five minutes before because he had nothing else to do.

“You wanted to see me?” she said anxiously, wondering if she’d done something wrong.

“I always like seeing you, Buffy. It’s hard to find time for friends in our busy lives, isn’t it?”

Buffy blushed. Jonathan considered her his friend! That was marvellous.

“Are you and Riley any closer since our little chat?”

The Slayer hesitated. Jonathan had explained that Riley sleeping with Faith when she was in Buffy’s body wasn’t the whole reason Buffy no longer trusted him. It was because he’d looked into her eyes and still thought it was Buffy.

Jonathan shook his dark head sadly. “Oh dear. Well, perhaps when we have finally tracked down Adam, things will improve. And speaking of which, that is why I need your help, Buffy.”

“I’ll do anything you ask!”

With a snap, Jonathan closed the book he was holding. “I want you to keep Spike out of my way for the rest of this evening.”

“Spike? But Jonathan, he’s chipped, he can’t hurt us.”

“I have a plan – ” He laughed. “There is a certain magical process that, although it could be deadly dangerous to me, the perpetrator, might be extremely useful in defeating Adam.”

“Willow’s good at spells. So’s her friend Tara,” Buffy put in eagerly.

“Ah Buffy, amateurs are often good at little things, but I’m afraid this spell calls for someone with, shall we say, a little more experience.”

“Of course, Jonathan. I’m sure you’ll be marvellous. The danger will mean nothing to you. And Spike - ?”

“Spike could ruin the whole thing. I think he would sense what I was doing and try and stop it in some meddling way. Oh, - ” He laughed away her concern. “I doubt he would succeed, but he might delay things.”

Buffy nodded. “So I have to keep him busy for a whole night?” She frowned. “Do you have a plan?”

There was a long pause as Jonathan smiled and seemed to be thinking great thoughts, then - “No, I don’t. But I’m sure you’ll think of something. Just remember, the future of the whole world depends on you. I need Spike to be preoccupied between midnight tonight and six a.m. tomorrow morning, but I don’t want him to suspect anything magical is happening. I’m relying on you, Buffy. I know you won’t let me down.”

Buffy gave him a sharp glance. “I’ll certainly do my best, Jonathan. But spending a whole night ‘distracting’ Spike – you don’t mean you want me to – well – distract him!”

Jonathan sighed as if he had all the worries of the world on his shoulders. “Buffy, we are at war and in battle you are sometimes called to make a sacrifice, to lay down your life for your cause. I am not asking for your life, but perhaps for something you hold just as sacred. You must use whatever weapons you have in this fight. This is a mission for good against evil. Nothing is more important than the mission.”

Buffy arrived at Spike’s crypt just before midnight feeling distinctly uneasy. Jonathan was marvellous, and of course he was Jonathan, so what he said had to be right, didn’t it? Or could he be wrong this time? He was asking her to make the supreme sacrifice – sleep with Spike, have sex with William the Bloody, make love to a bleached vampire with sapphire eyes and a mouth that begged to be kissed and - okay! Jonathan was right. She should never have doubted him.

She crashed through the doorway and skidded to a halt in front of a startled vampire who was sitting in his armchair, reading, sipping Scotch from what looked remarkably like one of Giles’ crystal glasses.

“Slayer?” He put down the glass and stared with hostile eyes at the blonde girl in bright red leather trousers standing aggressively in front of him, her hands on her hips.

“Spike!”

“Yes – I was the last time I looked – except, vampire here, no mirrors.”

“Spike!”

“I think we’ve already established that fact, pet,” he drawled, closing the book and leaning back in his chair, stretching out his legs and tapping his boot toes together.

Buffy hesitated and stared down at the black T shirt clinging to the muscles of his forearms. To her horror she realised she had no idea what to do next. Go to crypt, seduce Spike, keep him busy for six hours, go home, had been the plan. Well, she’d done part one. It was part two that was turning out to be a little trickier than she’d imagined.

How did you seduce the person who had once been your deadliest enemy? Flirting was something other girls did. There’d probably been a class teaching it which she’d missed due to trying to stake same deadliest enemy and his mad bitch ho partner at the time.

Spike glared up at the girl in front of him, puzzled and annoyed. Bloody hell, couldn’t the Slayer give him one night off from constant arse kicking? What with monster-boy Adam making come on noises at him and having to think of plans and schemes to split up the Scoobies, his head ached. All he wanted to do this evening was to sit quietly with a nice drop of Giles’ best whisky, Joyce’s book club recommendation and relax.

And instead he had an energy charged ball of blonde Slayer swaying back and forwards in front of him, her tits poking suggestively through her skimpy white top and all she could say was his name and glare at him with those great golden-green eyes of hers. Did she have no idea how bloody seductive she looked, just standing there?

Sod the bloody chip. It would be worth the screaming agony just to grab her, bend her over his knee, pull down those slutty leather trousers and wallop her backside until she begged him to stop. Then he’d thrust himself in as deep as he could and – Spike’s eyes began to glaze as he felt violent movement in parts of his body now covered carefully by Joyce’s novel.

Buffy felt the blood rushing through her veins. She felt such an idiot, such a failure. She realised she had no idea how to be seductive, how to lead a guy on to make love to her. She would have to report back to Jonathan that she’d failed. And while one part of her was quite thankful, because, hey she had a boyfriend and should be faithful to him - there was another part that felt incredibly disappointed. “I’ve got to go,” she said abruptly and turned back to the crypt door.

Spike stared after her in amazement. What had got into the stupid bint? He would have said she was drunk, but there was no smell of alcohol, just a lot of perfume, as if she’d sprayed it all over her body. God she was so aggravating! 

Buffy stopped before she opened the door to the night air. This was running away, giving in, surrendering. Slayers didn‘t do any of those things. They went down fighting, giving their all, doing their best. She spun round. This was no time to be bashful. She didn’t do girly. She was the Slayer! “Spike, I know it’s a ridiculous question because I know we hate each other, but would you like to have sex with me?”

The question hung in the gloomy air of the crypt, did a pirouette, bounced off the walls, made itself a cup of coffee and came back to jump up and down in front of Buffy. She almost glanced behind her, wondering if some other Slayer had asked Spike that question. But from the look on his face – a sort of shocked bewilderment – she reckoned, yup, it had been her. “Well?” she snapped. “Jeez, what part of that sentence don’t you understand?”

The vampire almost looked behind him, wondering if some other vampire called Spike was standing there. Then, from the expression on her face – a sort of shocked anger – he reckoned, it had been him the bint was talking to all along. He couldn’t make his voice work. It seemed to have got stuck somewhere between his throat and his stomach. He thought if he tried to get sounds out, they would squeal or squeak and turn into gibberish.

He also had the oddest feeling that how he replied was, for some reason, incredibly important. Eyes that for over a century had been trained to pick up the smallest signals in an enemy’s body language, now recorded those of the girl in front of him.

All brave bravado on the surface, but her fists were white knuckle clenched, with the thumbs tucked inside, not out. You never, ever, fought that way; if you punched with your thumb inside your fist, it could break the bone. The Slayer knew that. So, the clenched fists were from fear, not aggression. And Buffy Summers didn’t fear him; he might be thick as two short planks most of the time, but he knew she was the bravest female he’d ever met.  
So what did she fear? That he would say yes to her amazing question? Or he would say no? Then why ask it?

Okay, he knew he could pull the birds at any time in any place, and he’d never had any complaints about his performance, - Spike gave himself a smug pat on the back - there was no way the Slayer would be interested in trying him out. It wasn’t as if she had any feelings for him. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, of course. She just wasn’t aware yet that the emotions that zinged between them meant anything more than hatred and bloody disgust. One day she might. But that day wasn’t today. No, there was something decidedly fishy going on. The bait was lovely, but he still sensed a beautiful deadly trap.

“No, thanks.” God, had he really said that? Turned down making love to a girl who made him randy just by standing there?

“What?”

“I said, no thanks, pet. Kind offer and all that, but I’ve got my pride, you know.”

Buffy looked stunned. Spike was turning her down! Oh, that did her self esteem a load of good. “What’s your pride got to do with it?”

Spike jumped up and prowled round the crypt, the tails of his red silk shirt flying. “Oh, don’t think I don’t know what you and your tosser friends talk about behind my back. You feel sorry for me, don’t you? Pity poor Spike Day, is that it? Chipped and useless. Or is it more than that. Has soldier boy discovered that the gizmo in my skull is on some destruct mechanism? Is my soddin’ head going to explode all over Sunnydale tomorrow? That’s it, isn’t it — ? A mercy fuck. I’m going to dust so you decide to give me a little going away present!”

He picked up a chair and sent it smashing into the wall. Buffy leapt backwards. She’d always known Jonathan’s mission was going to be hard, but this was ridiculous. Spike was angry that she’d offered to sleep with him! How arrogant could a vampire be? As if she’d go within touching distance of him if she didn’t have to. “No, of course your head isn’t going to explode. Well, not that I know about. And if it did, well – I’d be – ”

“Don’t say you’d be sorry, Slayer,” Spike roared. “I don’t bloody well believe you!”

Buffy bit her lip. She was going to fail Jonathan. That was obvious. There was no way she could stay here until morning, even if she kept arguing with him. And the future of the world depended on him not interfering with Jonathan’s plans. Right, if she couldn’t get him to sleep with her out of lust, perhaps she could reverse things and get him to ‘have the sex’ as Xander would say, out of pity. She turned away so he couldn‘t see her face. She was used to pretending to be someone she wasn’t. How hard could this be?

“I – I’m sorry you find me so disgusting, Spike,” she said quietly, pleased with the little tremor that she managed to insert in her voice. “I know it’s an odd thing to ask. I expect you’ve heard – I suppose Riley has told everyone our secret – ” She let a sob escape as she walked towards the crypt door, head bent.

“Wait a sec, Slayer. I never said you were disgusting. Eminently bedable. And what’s with the soldier boy telling people a secret?”

Buffy threw herself down in the chair he’d recently been sitting in. “You don’t have to lie to me, Spike,“ she muttered. “I’m the Slayer. I don‘t expect I’m – well, I suppose I’m not normal like other girls.”

Spike put one booted foot up on the arm of her chair and suddenly there was far too much denim covered thigh only inches from her face. She stared, fascinated, at the little buttons on the fly band. Why didn’t he have a zip? Everyone had zips. Buttons were old-fashioned; it would take you ages to undo all those little –

He leant down towards her. Her hair was a tangled of gold and when she bent forward like that, he could see the delicate white neck where a blue vein pulsed, on and on and

And why the hell was she wearing those slutty red leather trousers. They were so tight; he could see the line of her panties underneath – very small panties –

“Why the hell d’you think you’re not normal, Slayer? Has the big bad soldier boy blotted his incredibly stiff copybook?” His nostrils flared suddenly. There was no mistaking that aroma. Soddin’ hell, something, someone – had aroused little miss pearly knees.

“Oh, is it the words ‘incredibly stiff’ that worry you, pet?” he purred and, without meaning to, reached out to stroke his hand down the full length of her hair. “Doesn’t the wanker have one like that? What’s the matter, Slayer, is his short and wobbly, then? All that muscle but not much where it’s needed, eh? And, if I’m not very much mistaken, you need one very badly, don’t you?”

Buffy pushed herself back in her chair. She was getting the reaction she wanted from him, now he thought she was vulnerable. It was amazing how easy it was to get a guy – even a dead one – to do things for you if they felt they were in charge of the situation. ‘And the Oscar for creativity in a tight spot goes to Miss Cordelia Chase,’ she thought and wriggled in the chair, suddenly aware that her body was betraying her.

Which was OK, because all right, she’d been having issues with Riley over the Faith in her Body situation, and no sex now for some time and - Buffy could feel her breath getting shorter. This was ridiculous. Spike was talking dirty to her and she was letting him. Not that it was affecting her, of course. The achey itch between her legs was caused by the tight leather trousers she was wearing. And she was still in total charge of the situation, which was going exactly the way she’d wanted which was why, oh God, in one movement that was too swift to stop, he’d picked up from the chair and lain her down on top of a great stone chest.

“So – tell me why you’re not normal, Slayer,” Spike hissed angrily, hating to see the expression of self-doubt in her eyes.

Buffy tried to remember the part she was playing, but the words and actions were vanishing from her brain. He was kneeling astride her and his fly was now inches from her mouth. Her eyes widened as she looked at the straining material. She wasn’t going to do this! Not even for Jonathan – not even to help defeat Adam, because this was Spike and she hated him and it was someone else’s fingers that had ripped his jeans open so violently that the buttons had flown off.

She groaned because his voice was still there, whispering dirty words, sexy and loving words, words she didn’t even understand. She knew it was wrong, very wrong to compare two pricks, because nice girls didn’t do that, but, oh god! And she wondered suddenly if Faith had compared Riley’s to any of the many others she’d known?

Perhaps Faith had done things in bed that pleased Riley. Perhaps she’d whispered dirty words to him while they were making love. Had those words made him hot? Had he made Faith come? Made her scream? Because if he had – and this Buffy now realised at last was behind all her anger - surely at that moment he would have realised that the girl beneath him wasn’t really Buffy?

“Tell me, Slayer,” Spike murmured. Somehow his shirt and T had vanished and his cold smooth skin was pressing against her chest. When had her top come off? She tried desperately to think of Jonathan and his mission and be in control because -

Because every time she had Riley had had sex, she’d faked it! Oh yes, she was such a good little actress. He thought she came whenever he did. She couldn’t come for Riley! And that was why he should have known the body he was shagging wasn’t her; because she was damn sure Faith had had a proper orgasm and reacted in a different way. And now if they made love, he would know Buffy was acting.

Spike slid her trousers down her legs, still expecting the trap to shut around him. But if anything, the silly bint was cooperating, lifting her bum and wriggling to help give him a full view of herself. He heard a deep moan and realised it was coming from him.   
He hesitated. He knew if he once bent his head he would be lost forever.

“Tell me, Buffy,” he said, running his tongue up between her breasts. “Why are you doing this? Who said you weren’t normal? Soldier boy? Parker Wanker? Don‘t tell me it was Peaches, because I haven’t got the dosh to go to L.A. to stake him!”

Blue eyes burnt into green. She floundered through her mind, hunting for words, for reasons – saving the world – Jonathan told me to – sorry for you – and knew that they were all rubbish. If she was being honest with herself, she’d leapt at the chance to have sex with Spike tonight. Jonathan’s mission had been too good to be true. Because her nervous system still remembered a dark night outside Giles’ house, when she was magically engaged to the vampire. She’d told herself she’d forgotten those sensations he caused inside her, but knew she lied.

“No one said it,” she gasped as he ran his hand down the inside of her thigh and then back up again, his fingers just grazing where the hair was being pushed upwards by swollen flesh. “I can’t come for Riley!”

There, she’d said it and she was probably going to be damned and go to Hell. She screwed her eyes shut, waiting to hear Spike laugh. But when she opened them, he was only smiling down at her, his eyes full of mischief.

“Can’t see that that’s abnormal, pet,” he said softly, his hands returning to her breasts. “Bloody normal, if you ask me. Can’t imagine any girl coming for that tosser. Must be like having sex by numbers. One drop trousers, two kiss, three insert prick, four rock up and down, five come, six say “was that all right for you?” He dropped a row of butterfly kisses down her stomach and then looked up at her, along the length of her body. “So you want me to experiment with?”

“Well, I can hardly go to Xander,” Buffy replied, trying not to gasp. “I just want to make sure that I’m – ”

“In full working order?” Spike grinned. He didn’t believe a word she was saying. Oh, the bit about Finn was probably true, but there was another reason, one she was keeping secret.

But the smell of her was so overpowering that his brain had stopped functioning a long time back and he no longer cared if she was setting a trap, or what plan she thought she was implementing. He wanted her – and as his lapping tongue sent the first spasms through her, he knew no one had done that to her since – And memories of a dark night in Giles’s yard cascaded into his brain as her hands tightened painfully into his hair, holding his face in place.

Buffy was gasping as her first orgasm dwindled. She refused to let Spike move. He didn’t need to breathe, but she needed – oh god, she so needed him to do that again.

She stretched her legs apart, giving him room to move enthusiastically and this time his finger joined his tongue and he was glad the walls of the crypt were so thick as she began to scream. She shuddered violently as the red waves of pleasure subsided a little.

“For someone who can’t come, you’re giving a pretty good impression, Slayer,” he muttered thickly.

She reached down to touch him, but he shook his head and held her hands away from him. “Oh no, pet. You wanted to come, well, first you have to do the journey.“

“What - OH!” Buffy gasped as with one thrust, the whole hard length of him pierced her. She felt her eyes flash open wide – there was no way she could take so much, so was too small, he was too big, oh but her body did remember him, knew how to take him, and now he was thrusting, hard and deep and with every thrust, a shock wave of feeling flooded her body. She wrapped her legs tight around his waist and drummed on his back with her heels at every thrust. He was cursing now, violent words mixed with loving ones. He’d slipped into game face and from somewhere she heard a girl‘s voice shouting “Harder! Harder!” She wanted to scream but had no breath because, oh god, no, this couldn’t happen! It was! The pressure began to build inside her until with one final thrust he sent her screaming into the abyss, growling and pounding her into oblivion.

The eastern sky was a pale pink, showing where the sun would soon rise, when Buffy let herself out of the crypt. She closed the door on a naked, sleeping vampire and stood, legs trembling, taking in deep breaths of the fresh morning air. She felt sore and bruised, the leather of her trousers rubbing in just the wrong place. She’d kept Spike ‘diverted’ for at least five hours and it was unlikely he would even move before midday. So, mission accomplished, she thought, trying to find some morning justification for what had happened. “Jonathan will be pleased. That’s the most important thing.”

She hoped he’d managed to work his magic, hoped they’d saved the world. He was so marvellous, so – Jonathan. And as she walked home, she forced herself to think about Jonathan and his many skills – anything rather than think about what she and Spike had just done to each other.

And she found herself wondering just how Jonathan could be so good at so many things?

Wondering…

 

More meetings soon


	10. Please Help Me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the meetings between Spike and Buffy that they didn't want you to know about.....in this one, they don't actually meet, but the consequences of their last encounter are lingering.....

Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh

 

Meeting: Please help me!

 

Shona - “Your Troubles are my Troubles” - sat in her office at the Sunnydale Press newspaper office, ruffled her short blonde hair and glared at the piles of mail on her desk. She hated her job as an advice columnist with a vengeance - but it paid the bills, which seemed to multiply every day.

She felt worried. Her boss was moaning that her column wasn’t sexy enough, “I need more heat on the page!” he’d yelled this morning. “You’re too cold. I want to see letters from people with real exciting problems.”

“He should read some of this rubbish,” she muttered now and picked up the latest bundle the messenger boy had just delivered.

There was a computer printed letter – no address or name, of course, but most of the writers wanted to be anonymous. They looked forward to reading her replies in the newspaper.

“Dear Shona, please help me. I’ve always had trouble finding boyfriends and the one man I loved left me. Now I’ve fallen in love with a girl and my friends all hate me because I’m gay. Why are they being so judgemental?”

How about this next letter? Printed on the back of what looked like an old pizza order form.

“Dear Shona, Please help me. I’m a young, healthy man with an upwardly mobile job selling frozen confectionery. I do have problems attracting the wrong type of girls – my present one has a very weird past – but my biggest worry is that my old school friends have left me behind. They’re more interested in their own lives and have shut me out….”

Shona sighed and threw the letters to one side. Ah, this one looked more interesting. At least it was written on decent paper. Tiny cramped handwriting, though – reminded her of her last teacher at college. It was signed E. Rayne, but she doubted that was his real name.

“Dear Madam, I have never written to an advice columnist before, but I find myself in an emotional and economic dilemma. My lifetime’s work seems to be at an end, as my charge no longer needs my guidance. I am looking for input from all professional and amateur sources which could be of use in my assimilation of – ”

Shona found herself nodding off, threw the letter in the bin and drank a large mouthful of coffee. God, how was she going to find anything ‘hot’ to reply to?

Ah, this one was a little better. Severe blue paper with black lines, obviously taken from some sort of official notepad. The margins were exact on each side, as if a ruler had been used. A crisp, military style of writing. She wondered if the sender was in the military.

“Dear Madam, Your help would be appreciated with the following: item one, girl friend who is superior to me in some aspects of physical life, not I add, sexual – why do I find this difficult to cope with; item two, I have a growing need to get involved with those business associates of hers with whom she is in competition. Would you advise me to continue with this activity?’

The next letter was puzzling. It was printed in very big letters on a piece of paper that seemed to be splattered with what could have been spots of blood. WHO AM I? it read.

Well, that’s the question we all ask, Shona thought grimly. God, if only someone would send her a letter she could really work on. Something sexy and poignant, hot and tender. But who was likely to have that sort of problem in Sunnydale….

Buffy had been circling the block where the editorial offices of the Sunnydale Press were situated for an hour. It was getting dark, but there were still a few lights on in the offices. She clutched a small pink envelope in her hand.

She felt silly, but she needed to talk about her problems to someone and a stranger seemed like a good idea. None of her friends would understand and as for Riley – well, he’d have freaked if he’d read her letter. She hadn’t given a name or address, but perhaps Shona would print her reply in the newspaper.

Wearily Buffy leant against a wall. When they’d sorted out the Jonathan problem, she’d hoped life would settle down. OK, she and Riley did seem much closer. He wanted sex all the time. And she didn’t mind if it kept him happy. She knew she was so pretending, acting out the besotted girlfriend, lots of moans and groans and yes, it was all fake, but then she spent much of her life acting so that was no biggie.

Making love to Riley was very nice, very comforting in an ‘I’m a nice normal girl with a nice normal guy’ sort of way. But at the back of her mind, all the time, was a memory of a dream she’d had a few days ago – a silly dream in which Jonathan Levinson had ruled Sunnydale, as if! — and in the middle of the dream she had had to have sex with Spike in order for a plan of Jonathan’s to work.

Every detail - the chill feel of his naked body on hers, the texture of his skin, the way he‘d stripped off her clothes and made love to her, even the sounds she’d made when she’d come and come in sobbing, crashing orgasms - yes, everything was crystal clear in her mind.

And she wondered every time that Riley made love to her, would this be the time when she experienced something close to what her body recalled? She didn’t believe it could ever be as sensational as she remembered between two people. Jeez, how could you cope if you knew those sorts of feelings and sensations were only a touch away? That you would only have to smash down a crypt door, reach out, grasp a slim, taut body and let him touch you, take you, made you feel –

Anyway, she knew it had only been a dream, Jonathan hadn’t really ruled Sunnydale; he’d just altered people’s perception of reality. So surely everything that she’d done during that time was a figment of her imagination.

 

She could imagine sex with Spike being wonderful, but obviously in real life it wouldn’t be. She shuddered and watched as a few more people left the newspaper offices. Once the building looked empty, she’d slip the envelope onto the front reception desk.

Buffy lifted the flap and pulled out her letter.

“Dear Shona, please help me. Please! I have a really great boyfriend and although we make love all the time, I fake my responses. I know this is bad, but he’d be so upset if I ever told him. My problem is this, I have a vivid imagination and can picture having sex with a man I detest. In this dream I am not faking anything. Will you please tell me how to resolve this? I attend UC Sunnydale and have a part time job which can be very demanding. B.”

Buffy read it through again, then sighed as she licked the envelope flap shut.  
She hurried inside the now empty building and dropped the letter on the counter, wondering how long it would take for a reply to appear in the newspaper.

As she hurried away down the street, keen to do a quick patrol, Spike came round the corner. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of her vanishing into the dusk. Slayer! God, the bitch haunted his every move. He couldn’t even walk down the Sunnydale streets without nearly bumping into her. He lit a cigarette, enjoying the little thrill of danger that the flaring flame from his lighter always gave him.

The last person he needed to speak to this evening was Buffy Summers. He’d had the weirdest dream about her a couple of nights ago. He couldn‘t get it out of his soddin’ head – the passion, the heat, the smell of her. Even now he could feel himself stiffen and stir; he needed to be home in the privacy of his own crypt, not hanging around street corners like some pathetic wanker!

‘Instead of a ordinary wanker,’ a voice inside his head jeered and he kicked through the glass door of the nearest building in sheer frustration.

The next morning, Shona, “Your Troubles are my Troubles” felt a little more positive. She’d charmed her way out of getting a ticket because she’d parked too close to a fire hydrant. It was a trick she‘d used before and probably would again. Boy, would her readers be surprised if they knew how she managed that!

And she’d had a stroke of luck. There had been two letters waiting for her when she arrived at the newspaper, both obviously hand delivered. The one from a girl – pink envelope and neat handwriting – was all about orgasms and sex. Just what her editor had wanted. But it was the second one that had caught her attention. The paper stank of cigarette smoke when she tore open the envelope, but the letter inside was beautifully written in real black ink with what looked like an old-fashioned pen, one with a nib. The spelling was odd – she wondered if the writer was British – but it was the content that was interesting.

“Dear Shona, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll help me. I’ve been in love twice in my long life so know what it’s supposed to feel like. What I want to know is what the hell is this emotion that’s killing me today? Why do I look at a certain girl and want to slaughter her one minute and make love to her the next? Why am I dreaming about her? This isn’t right and I want it to bloody well stop. You’re the expert. You tell me. Yours sincerely. W.  
P.S. Do you pay for these letters, if so how much?”

Shona smiled and began to enter the contents of this note onto her screen.  
She would use both the letters and hoped that B and W would read her replies. She laughed. It was a shame she couldn’t get the two of them together. They’d probably get on really well. There was enough passion in both of them to set the whole of Sunnydale alight.

She sighed. Oh well, that was just a silly thought. If people were destined to be together, life would bring it about sooner or later.

 

To be continued


	11. Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short meeting between Buffy and Spike that they didn't tell about. Adam has been defeated and the Scoobies are having a party.

NEVER EVER TELL by Lilachigh

Meeting 11: Celebration

 

The video shop was busy; the whole of Sunnydale’s population seemed to be in there, renting films for the evening. Buffy couldn’t be bothered to wait in line any longer. She was sure Xander would have enough videos for them to watch anyway. She was glad to get out into the cool dusk of the evening air. The rest of the gang were due at her house in half an hour. She almost wished they weren’t coming. She was so tired! She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt so bone weary.

The excitement of fighting and defeating Adam had drained her of every ounce of energy and all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed, without Riley, and sleep and sleep and…

“Slayer!”

Absolutely the very last person she wanted to see was leaning against a tree as she cut through the cemetery on her way to Revello Drive.

“Spike. I thought you’d be a long way away from here by now. What is it with you? Do you have some sort of permanent death wish? If so, I can oblige. Just say the word!”

“Tut, tut, pet. That’s not a very nice remark to someone who risked bloody life and limb, fighting on your side in the big battle with the Initiative wankers. You’d all have been toast if it hadn’t been for my help.”

“Spike, if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn‘t have had to sort out the arguments between Willow, Anya, Xander, Tara and Giles. You tried to split up friendships that have existed for years. You told lies to - well, to everyone! What do you expect me to say…thank you and do come over and spend the evening with me and the gang!”

Spike glanced at her from under absurdly long eyelashes. For a second he looked hopeful, almost as if he’d thought she was being serious, then his usual mocking expression came back. “Vampire here, pet. Thought you and your Scoobie friends were in danger of forgetting that fact. Not completely harmless, you know, even if I do have this soddin’ chip in my brain.”

“Spike, face facts, you are completely harmless! You don’t even raise a single blip on my worry radar screen. You’re blipless, blip minus, the most negative blip you can imagine.”

The vampire pulled out his cigarettes and lit one, blowing the smoke straight into her face. “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” he said, angry with himself for feeling hurt.

“What? I’m not protesting, I’m not dothing, I’m just telling you,” Buffy said crossly, waving the smoke away.

“So where’s Captain Cardboard this fine evening?” he said, falling into step beside her as she headed for home.

Buffy sighed. She wished Spike would go away. She was irritably aware that their strides matched as they walked along. She’d always had to skip every other stride to keep up with Angel and Riley was even worse. By the end of a hundred yards she was usually running to stay by his side.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s at an Initiative debriefing,” she said tersely.

“So the bloody cover-up’s started already has it? What are they going to call this one - Adamgate?”

Buffy threw him a startled glance. She’d been thinking the very same thing, ever since Riley told her where he was going. Everything would be smoothed over; it would be as if Maggie Walsh and all those scientists, soldiers and even the demons, had never existed.

She wondered briefly what the Army would tell their families. Killed in the line of duty? And heard herself saying, for some absurd reason, “Do demons have families?”

Spike stopped in the dark shade of a big tree that overshadowed the sidewalk yards from her home. Effortlessly, it seemed to her, he understood what she was thinking. And that annoyed her so much!

“Some do, pet. My mate Clem’s got a big family. Brothers, sisters, nice parents. His dad reminds me a lot of your Watcher. Except he’s got lots more skin and doesn’t wear glasses. But he collects books and likes the odd glass of Scotch from time to time.”

“So if your friend had died in the Initiative cages - ?”

“I’d have had to go and tell his family - yes. And there will be other demons doing just that all over Sunnydale in the next few days.”

There was a long silence. Buffy stared up the road towards her house. She could see the lights were on in every room, the moving shadows on the blinds told her her Mom was there, and probably the rest of the Scoobies as well. Their celebration evening was about to begin. So why was she standing here, in the dark, with the evil undead, talking about demons? ‘I’m tired, that’s why,’ she thought swiftly. But the house seemed a million miles away and walking there an unbearable task.

The more she gazed at it, the further away it appeared. Like a mirage, it hovered there, as if it had no substance. The house, the people in it, all seemed to exist in a dream. Reality was here, in the dark, with the gritty sidewalk under her feet, the faint smell of leather and whisky and blood surrounding her and an aggravating, back-stabbing vampire at her side.

It would be noisy indoors, lots of talking and laughter, food and drink. Her friends were feeling so happy - and so was she. Of course she was! She’d slain Adam, saved the world, had a cute boyfriend who was cool with the whole Slayer thing. What else did she need?

She forced herself to walk out from under the tree, then hesitated and turned. Spike was still standing there.

“What…what are you going to do for the rest of the evening?” she asked. “Get drunk, I suppose.”

Spike tilted his head to one side and smiled gently. He could see that she was so tired she could hardly stand up straight. It was tempting to continue the battle, but this wasn’t the time or place. “I’ll leave what I’ll be doing to your vivid imagination, pet,” he said suggestively and laughed as she wrinkled her nose in disgust and walked away.

He watched over her until the small figure turned into the driveway. For a second she paused, turned and looked back at him. Her hand lifted, just slightly, as if she was about to wave, and then she opened the door and went inside.

“Oh Buffy,” he muttered, “You think you know what’s to come. What you are. You haven’t even begun.”

To be continued


	12. Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short meeting between Buffy and Spike that they didn't tell about. Adam has been defeated and the Scoobies are having a party.

NEVER EVER TELL by Lilachigh

Meeting 11: Celebration

 

The video shop was busy; the whole of Sunnydale’s population seemed to be in there, renting films for the evening. Buffy couldn’t be bothered to wait in line any longer. She was sure Xander would have enough videos for them to watch anyway. She was glad to get out into the cool dusk of the evening air. The rest of the gang were due at her house in half an hour. She almost wished they weren’t coming. She was so tired! She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt so bone weary.

The excitement of fighting and defeating Adam had drained her of every ounce of energy and all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed, without Riley, and sleep and sleep and…

“Slayer!”

Absolutely the very last person she wanted to see was leaning against a tree as she cut through the cemetery on her way to Revello Drive.

“Spike. I thought you’d be a long way away from here by now. What is it with you? Do you have some sort of permanent death wish? If so, I can oblige. Just say the word!”

“Tut, tut, pet. That’s not a very nice remark to someone who risked bloody life and limb, fighting on your side in the big battle with the Initiative wankers. You’d all have been toast if it hadn’t been for my help.”

“Spike, if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn‘t have had to sort out the arguments between Willow, Anya, Xander, Tara and Giles. You tried to split up friendships that have existed for years. You told lies to - well, to everyone! What do you expect me to say…thank you and do come over and spend the evening with me and the gang!”

Spike glanced at her from under absurdly long eyelashes. For a second he looked hopeful, almost as if he’d thought she was being serious, then his usual mocking expression came back. “Vampire here, pet. Thought you and your Scoobie friends were in danger of forgetting that fact. Not completely harmless, you know, even if I do have this soddin’ chip in my brain.”

“Spike, face facts, you are completely harmless! You don’t even raise a single blip on my worry radar screen. You’re blipless, blip minus, the most negative blip you can imagine.”

The vampire pulled out his cigarettes and lit one, blowing the smoke straight into her face. “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” he said, angry with himself for feeling hurt.

“What? I’m not protesting, I’m not dothing, I’m just telling you,” Buffy said crossly, waving the smoke away.

“So where’s Captain Cardboard this fine evening?” he said, falling into step beside her as she headed for home.

Buffy sighed. She wished Spike would go away. She was irritably aware that their strides matched as they walked along. She’d always had to skip every other stride to keep up with Angel and Riley was even worse. By the end of a hundred yards she was usually running to stay by his side.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s at an Initiative debriefing,” she said tersely.

“So the bloody cover-up’s started already has it? What are they going to call this one - Adamgate?”

Buffy threw him a startled glance. She’d been thinking the very same thing, ever since Riley told her where he was going. Everything would be smoothed over; it would be as if Maggie Walsh and all those scientists, soldiers and even the demons, had never existed.

She wondered briefly what the Army would tell their families. Killed in the line of duty? And heard herself saying, for some absurd reason, “Do demons have families?”

Spike stopped in the dark shade of a big tree that overshadowed the sidewalk yards from her home. Effortlessly, it seemed to her, he understood what she was thinking. And that annoyed her so much!

“Some do, pet. My mate Clem’s got a big family. Brothers, sisters, nice parents. His dad reminds me a lot of your Watcher. Except he’s got lots more skin and doesn’t wear glasses. But he collects books and likes the odd glass of Scotch from time to time.”

“So if your friend had died in the Initiative cages - ?”

“I’d have had to go and tell his family - yes. And there will be other demons doing just that all over Sunnydale in the next few days.”

There was a long silence. Buffy stared up the road towards her house. She could see the lights were on in every room, the moving shadows on the blinds told her her Mom was there, and probably the rest of the Scoobies as well. Their celebration evening was about to begin. So why was she standing here, in the dark, with the evil undead, talking about demons? ‘I’m tired, that’s why,’ she thought swiftly. But the house seemed a million miles away and walking there an unbearable task.

The more she gazed at it, the further away it appeared. Like a mirage, it hovered there, as if it had no substance. The house, the people in it, all seemed to exist in a dream. Reality was here, in the dark, with the gritty sidewalk under her feet, the faint smell of leather and whisky and blood surrounding her and an aggravating, back-stabbing vampire at her side.

It would be noisy indoors, lots of talking and laughter, food and drink. Her friends were feeling so happy - and so was she. Of course she was! She’d slain Adam, saved the world, had a cute boyfriend who was cool with the whole Slayer thing. What else did she need?

She forced herself to walk out from under the tree, then hesitated and turned. Spike was still standing there.

“What…what are you going to do for the rest of the evening?” she asked. “Get drunk, I suppose.”

Spike tilted his head to one side and smiled gently. He could see that she was so tired she could hardly stand up straight. It was tempting to continue the battle, but this wasn’t the time or place. “I’ll leave what I’ll be doing to your vivid imagination, pet,” he said suggestively and laughed as she wrinkled her nose in disgust and walked away.

He watched over her until the small figure turned into the driveway. For a second she paused, turned and looked back at him. Her hand lifted, just slightly, as if she was about to wave, and then she opened the door and went inside.

“Oh Buffy,” he muttered, “You think you know what’s to come. What you are. You haven’t even begun.”

To be continued


	13. Card Sharp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set at beginning of Season 5. Dracula has left town and Spike still hasn't got his money!

Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh

 

"So, he's gone then? Puff of smoke, crash of thunder? Wanker! A real drama queen."

Buffy bit her lip and reached up to touch the half healed scar on her neck. She could almost believe none of it had happened. Count Dracula! But the scar told her otherwise. "Yes, he's gone and if he values living for another century, he'll steer clear of Sunnydale from now on."

Spike lit a cigarette, ignoring her ostentatious cough. "Oh, yes, I'm sure he's quaking in his long black cloak. He's always been like that – big entrance, makes with the bat and wolf bit, loads of biting and thralling, then off he goes again. No staying power, that's his sodding problem. Always has been. Bloody hell, even Peaches can concentrate harder than Drac. Harmony can concentrate harder than Drac!"

Buffy stared at him, curious. "Did you want him to stay in Sunnydale?"

"I wanted my cash back, Slayer. I told you, he owes me eleven quid."

"Which is what in real money?"

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Still eleven quid. In funny American money, I suppose it's about seventeen dollars and that would buy me a load of blood. And then there'd be interest. I wonder how much that would add up to? Say five percent per year, divide by 3, take away the number you first thought of - "

"Why did you lend it to him in the first place?" Buffy snapped interrupting the diatribe. "I mean, does he look like the type of vamp who'd bother repaying a debt? He's Dracula, Geez, Spike. I sometimes wonder if you've learnt anything in all the years you've been dead."

A reminiscent smile crossed his face. "Poker game. The day World War II was declared. Sitting listening to that poxy bloke Chamberlain bleating on that we were at war with Germany. We had a good laugh that night. The thought of all that death and destruction – " He flinched at her horrified expression and hurried on, "Anyway, I wasn't playing. Been outside with Dru for a quick - well, we'd been outside! Drac was short of a tortoiseshell. All he had were two Persians and a half Siamese which the other blokes said didn't count. I had no kittens left at all, so I lent him eleven quid and he won the blooming lot. Over forty kittens! Then it was all, "Oh, got to go. Need to be in Berlin tomorrow. Puff of smoke. Crash of thunder. Gone like the gloryhound he is. And never paid me back."

Buffy turned to go. She'd had enough of Spike and his memories to last her a lifetime. Then something tugged at her mind. "So what did you do in the War?" she asked curiously.

Spike went very still. There was a question. He remembered a submarine, Liam, Nazis, blood. And other things, too. Things he bloody well didn't want to talk about to the Slayer. After all, he had a reputation as a Big Bad to keep up, didn't he.

Buffy shrugged at his silence. "I'm going home," she said. "I'm baby-sitting Dawn tonight." And she walked away.

The words, "Who the hell's Dawn?" quivered on Spike's lips and as he watched the slim blonde girl leaving the graveyard, for a weird, long second he felt as if his brain cells were being rearranged into a different pattern.

 

Meeting: Receiving signals

 

Buffy was glad to be out patrolling. There was something soothing about pacing through the streets and graveyards of Sunnydale, killing the odd vamp, glaring at a demon who, OK, wasn't exactly dangerous, but ewwww, the smell!

She supposed that at some time she would have to deal with the problem that was Harmony, but hopefully not tonight. The stars were too bright and with a warm breeze blowing through the trees and the scent of a hundred flowers in the graveyard hanging in the air, it was too nice a night to stake a former classmate, even Harmony.

Anyway, she had no doubt the ditzy blonde vamp would be shacked up with Spike by now, doing – well – doing whatever it was that vampires did, which had nothing, absolutely nothing in common with what she and Riley did!

She tried to push to the back of her mind the memory of the erotic dream she'd had about Spike when she was caught up in Jonathan's spell. If only it didn't still seem so real. Could you imagine bodily feelings like – well, like that! How could she ever in her wildest thoughts have dreamt up her behaviour in his crypt that night? Could she, would she ever act like that with Riley? She shuddered. He'd be horrified. Riley was a nice boy. He liked their love life to be – well, nice.

"And there's nothing wrong with that!" she muttered, viciously cutting off the head of a thistle as she passed it.

Walking past Spike's crypt and trying the door tonight had only been a sensible, Slayer action, she told herself proudly. You had to know where your deadliest enemy was at all times, and OK, so not so deadly anymore, what with the chip and all, but still….

Somewhere a church clock was chiming two: time to head for home. As she turned, she realised she was outside the Harris home. It was an old house; one of the oldest in Sunnydale and it always had an unhappy air about it; no wonder Xander longed to get away. No lights shone anywhere and against the starlit sky, the roof was a long black line – Not! As Buffy looked, a dark shape crawled up onto the roof ride and inched its way along towards the far end.

Grimly, without hesitating, Buffy leapt over the wall into the Harris yard and ran silently round the side of the house. She hadn't often visited Xander when he was living upstairs, rather than in the basement, but Willow had told her that when they were children, they had used a big tree as a convenient staircase for getting in and out of the house undetected by Mr and Mrs Harris. The tree was still there, wide branches reaching upwards. It took Buffy seconds to swing from branch to branch and finally drop down onto where a flat part of the roof jutted out over a bedroom. Above her head, the demon had stopped being silent. A steady chinking noise cut through the night and as Buffy finally reached the top of the house and tightroped her way along the ridge, she heard a string of swear words ripping out, in an accent that could only mean one person.

"Spike! What the heck are you doing up here?"

"Oh great! The Slayer!" Spike's words were muffled due to the fact that most of his fingers of one hand were in his mouth. "Here I am, bleeding to death, and you turn up."

Buffy dropped down next to him, sitting astride the roof ridge. "Spike, you're already dead! Now tell me what you're doing on top of Xander's house before I stake you and you won't have to worry about bleeding because you'll just be a pile of ash."

Spike pulled his fingers out of his mouth, one by one, and Buffy felt the colour rise into her face. Thankfully the stars weren't bright enough for him to see, although she had a niggling feeling from the glitter in his eyes that he knew what she was thinking.

"Look – the rotten spanner cut my knuckles."

"Spike – "

"OK, Slayer, don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm just, er, just repairing this satellite dish."

"You're doing what?"

"Has shagging soldier boy ruined your hearing, pet? This satellite dish is broken and I'm - I'm going to get it mended."

"You mean you're stealing it!" Buffy's voice rose from a whisper to a shriek that Dawn would have been proud of.

"Want to wake the whole neighbourhood, Slayer? The Harrises don't need it. They're always too drunk to watch TV. I, on the other hand, do need it. There are programmes I want to watch, because I'm stuck in that bloody crypt, a helpless crippled vamp, unable to fulfil my role in life, pursued by the Slayer at every turn – "

"I've never pursued you," Buffy hissed angrily. "Well, only to kill you, when you were worth killing."

Spike's teeth shone briefly in the starlight and she knew he was grinning at her. "Pursued, hunted down, chased from pillar to post – I mean, why are you up here, pet? I reckon you fancy me."

"I so do not fancy – Spike! Stop changing the subject. Leave the satellite dish alone and go home. And don't steal anyone else's. You'll just have to manage with the TV channels you've already got."

Spike sighed silently. Going home meant having to sit and listen to Harmony natter endlessly about nothing at all. Even when they were shagging, she talked about redecorating the crypt, what clothes she was going to steal, how she wanted them to move to Los Angeles. Watching TV was his last resort. Surreptitiously, he felt behind him where the dish was attached to the wall. The nuts and bolts were much looser. He'd leave it for now and come back tomorrow night when the Slayer was busy with soldier boy. As he turned, the spanner slid out of his hand and fell, crashing to the ground, hitting the glass roof of the Harris sunroom, smashing it to pieces. Within seconds lights went on all over the house and Buffy could hear Mr Harris and Xander shouting and yelling as they raced out to see what was going on.

Spike stood, ran and jumped for the tree branches, flying through the air like a big bat. Buffy hesitated, wondering if she could possibly explain to Mr Harris why she was sitting on his roof. Xander would accept that she'd seen a demon up here, but not his father.

Reluctantly, she followed Spike into the tree but as she caught the branch, it decided that two people were one too many to support this evening, gave an almighty crack and she found herself pitching down towards the ground. Then Spike's hand shot out from the darkness, clasped her arm and hauled her back up. They stood, balanced together, swaying in silence as the Harris family shouted and yelled and finally went back inside.

The air was warm and dark under the shelter of the leaves and for ten minutes Buffy stood with a vampire's arm tightly round her shoulders, her face pressed against a cool black T-shirt, hearing only her heart beating.

And later that night, she lay in bed and wondered exactly why it had been beating so fast.

another meeting soon


	14. Mirror Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy relates a meeting with Spike we never knew about

Mirror Image by Lilachigh

 

The last vamp I dusted yesterday evening was female. To be fair, it’s usually men who get turned. Not sure why. Maybe more biting and licking done by female vamps, more draining and drinking by the guys. Who knows? Who cares?

It was a run-of-the-mill dusting. I’d done three vamps already, all guys. Only one of them had given me any problems and I’d enjoyed the fight. But it was only ever going to have one ending. He died. 

Now I sat and watched the grass and mud erupting from the grave, the dead flowers falling in all directions. I was bored, to tell the truth. I could have gone home but home means Dawnie and although she doesn’t cry twenty-four seven any more, little things start her off. Clearing out Mom’s closets, the third Disney coffee mug – the one with Donald Duck - that will never be drunk out of again. The dent her head made in her pillow that is slowly vanishing. All these can make Dawn dissolve into floods. And you never know when something else is going to appear. You open a drawer and there are Mom's car keys. You call home and hear her voice on the answer-phone and for a long, long, second, you think - I was wrong! It was all a nightmare. I’ve woken up. Mom’s OK.

But you weren’t; it isn’t; you don’t and she never will be again.

Me, well, I’ve done crying. Dusting vamps is my release. And as this one lurched upright, wearing, by the way, the most revolting blue dress you’ve ever seen, her hair matted, face contorted by the demon inside, I leapt off the tombstone I was sitting on and thrust the stake into her chest. Poof! Black dust flying and she was gone. I brushed her remains off my arms, shook her out of my hair, kicked the broken turf back into some sort of order and turned for home.

Spike was standing behind me watching, frowning. What the hell did he have to frown about? “Enjoy the show?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Very – professional, pet. Very — cold.”

I stared at him, puzzled. “Of course it was professional, Spike. Slaying is my profession. Remember? I’m certainly not going to be a doctor or run for Congress or take up photography, now am I?”

“Shouldn’t be cold, though,” he said, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “Should be passionate. Slaying is a passion. You owe them passion.”

I laughed and even to me it sounded bitter. He was being a bigger idiot than usual. “I owe them death, Spike,” I said and walked away, back to the misery of home.

Tonight I was back in the same graveyard, patrolling, wasting time, when I realised there was someone else around. Sitting on the ground, next to the vamp’s empty grave, was a girl. She was about my age, short dark hair, on the plump side, what Mom would have called cuddly. She was patting the earth straight and in the moonlight I could see tears on her face. She hardly bothered to look up as I touched her shoulder. “Someone’s messed up my Mom’s grave,” she sobbed. “Look, it’s all muddy. Who would do something like that?”

Can your heart stop beating and you still be alive? Mine did. “Your Mom?” I whispered.

The girl nodded. “Marion Rose Lovell – I haven’t got the headstone carved yet.”

I found myself on my knees next to her. “When did she die?”

“Few weeks ago now. But it doesn’t seem like that long, it seems like – ”

“Yesterday.” I knew that feeling only too well.

“Yes. And now she’s all muddy and she hated mess. She liked things neat and tidy – she was always on at me about my room.”

“What else did she like?” My voice sounded odd.

There was a long pause. The girl wiped away the tears, leaving brown marks where the dirt from her fingers mingled with the mud and dust that unknown to her had once been Marion Rose Lovell.

“White flowers, Celine Dion songs, her little silver car, strawberry shakes, ordinary things, I suppose. She wasn’t particularly clever or pretty. I don’t suppose she would seem special to anyone else. Just me. She was my Mom.”

And at some time, some place, she’d been bitten and turned by a vamp and I’d staked her. She’d been a mom who liked white flowers and strawberry shakes, not just a vamp in a horrible blue dress, and I’d staked her. I wondered, briefly, would I have staked my Mom if she’d been turned? That was one nightmare that haunted me over and over again. How could I have possibly done that? But how could I not?

There wasn’t a lot more to say to the girl. I never knew her name. We left the grave as tidy as we could, patting back the clods of earth. She never knew it was empty. She never will.

But I’m back by it again now. I went to another grave in another cemetery where I knew there would always be white flowers, laid by both her daughters every week. I knew she wouldn’t mind if I took some for Marion Rose.

I’m staring down at the white roses, lilies and gardenias, scattered across the brown earth. The scent is marvellous. I can’t imagine where he found them at this time of night. He’s kneeling, turns and holds out his hand to me, his face solemn. I kneel next to him and lay my Mom’s flowers with his – on Marion Rose Lovell’s grave.

As he often does, he knows immediately what I’m thinking. “Don’t feel guilty, Buffy,” he says. “You had to stake her. You had no choice. She was a demon and you’re the Slayer. But she was human once, remember. With a family who grieve for her.” He turns and even in the starlight his eyes are very blue. “We were all human – once.”

tbc


	15. Receiving Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spike tries a spot of burglary.

Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh

Chapter 20

Receiving Signals

 

Buffy was glad to be out patrolling. There was something soothing about pacing through the streets and graveyards of Sunnydale, killing the odd vamp, glaring at a demon who, OK, wasn’t exactly dangerous, but ewwww, the smell!

She supposed that at some time she would have to deal with the problem that was Harmony, but hopefully not tonight. The stars were too bright and with a warm breeze blowing through the trees and the scent of a hundred flowers in the graveyard hanging in the air, it was too nice a night to stake a former classmate, even Harmony.

Anyway, she had no doubt the ditzy blonde vamp would be shacked up with Spike by now, doing – well – doing whatever it was that vampires did, which had nothing, absolutely nothing in common with what she and Riley did!

She tried to push to the back of her mind the memory of the erotic dream she’d had about Spike when she was caught up in Jonathan’s spell. If only it didn’t still seem so real. Could you imagine bodily feelings like – well, like that? How could she ever in her wildest thoughts have dreamt up her behaviour in his crypt that night? Could she, would she ever act like that with Riley? She shuddered. He’d be horrified. Riley was a nice boy. He liked their love life to be – well, nice.

“And there’s nothing wrong with that!” she muttered, viciously cutting off the head of a thistle as she passed it.

Walking past Spike’s crypt and trying the door tonight had only been a sensible, Slayer action, she told herself proudly. You had to know where your deadliest enemy was at all times, and OK, so not so deadly anymore, what with the chip and all, but still….

Somewhere a church clock was chiming two: time to head for home. As she turned, she realised she was outside the Harris home. It was an old house; one of the oldest in Sunnydale and it always had an unhappy air about it; no wonder Xander longed to get away. No lights shone anywhere and against the starlit sky, the roof was a long black line – Not! As Buffy looked, a dark shape crawled up onto the roof ridge and inched its way along towards the far end.

Grimly, without hesitating, Buffy leapt over the wall into the Harris yard and ran silently round the side of the house. She hadn’t often visited Xander when he was living upstairs, rather than in the basement, but Willow had told her that when they were children, they had used a big tree as a convenient staircase for getting in and out of the house undetected by Mr and Mrs Harris.

The tree was still there, wide branches reaching upwards. It took Buffy seconds to swing from branch to branch and finally drop down onto where a flat part of the roof jutted out over a bedroom. Above her head, the demon had stopped being silent. A steady chinking noise cut through the night and as Buffy finally reached the top of the house and tightroped her way along the ridge, she heard a string of swear words ripping out, in an accent that could only mean one person.

“Spike! What the heck are you doing up here?”

“Oh great! Slayer!” Spike’s words were muffled due to the fact that most of his fingers of one hand were in his mouth. “Here I am, bleeding to death, and you turn up.”

Buffy dropped down next to him, sitting astride the roof ridge. “Spike, you’re already dead! Now tell me what you’re doing on top of Xander’s house before I stake you and you won’t have to worry about bleeding because you’ll just be a little pile of ash.”

Spike pulled his fingers out of his mouth, one by one, and Buffy felt the colour rise into her face. Thankfully the stars weren’t bright enough for him to see, although she had a niggling feeling from the glitter in his eyes that he knew what she was thinking.

“Look – the rotten spanner cut my knuckles.”

“Spike – ”

“OK, Slayer, don’t get your knickers in a twist! I’m just, er, just repairing this satellite dish.”

“You’re doing what?”

“Has shagging soldier boy ruined your hearing, pet? This satellite dish is broken and I’m going to get it mended.”

“You mean you’re stealing it!” Buffy’s voice rose from a whisper to a shriek that Dawn would have been proud of.

“Want to wake the whole neighbourhood, Slayer? The Harrises don’t need it. They’re always too drunk to watch TV. I, on the other hand, do need it. There are programmes I want to watch, because I’m stuck in that bloody crypt, a helpless crippled vamp, unable to fulfil my role in life, pursued by the Slayer at every turn – ”

“I’ve never pursued you,” Buffy hissed angrily. “Well, only to kill you, when you were worth killing.”

Spike’s teeth shone briefly in the starlight and she knew he was grinning at her. “Pursued, hunted down, chased from pillar to post – I mean, why are you up here, pet? I reckon you fancy me.”

“I so do not fancy – Spike! Stop changing the subject. Leave the satellite dish alone and go home. And don’t steal anyone else’s. You’ll just have to manage with the TV channels you’ve already got.”

Spike sighed silently. Going home meant having to sit and listen to Harmony natter endlessly about nothing at all. Even when they were shagging, she talked about redecorating the crypt, what clothes she was going to steal, how she wanted them to move to Los Angeles. Watching TV was his last resort. Surreptitiously, he felt behind him where the dish was attached to the wall. The nuts and bolts were much looser. He’d leave it for now and come back tomorrow night when the Slayer was busy with soldier boy.

As he turned, the spanner slid out of his hand and fell, crashing to the ground, hitting the glass roof of the Harris sunroom, which smashed to pieces. Within seconds lights went on all over the house and Buffy could hear Mr Harris and Xander shouting and yelling as they ran out to see what was going on.

Spike stood, ran and jumped for the tree branches, flying through the air like a big bat. Buffy hesitated, wondering if she could possibly explain to Mr Harris why she was sitting on his roof. Xander would accept that she’d seen a demon up here, but not his father. Reluctantly, she followed Spike into the tree but as she caught the branch, it decided that two people were one too many to support in one evening, gave an almighty crack and she found herself pitching down towards the ground.

Then Spike’s hand shot out from the darkness, clasped her arm and hauled her back up. They stood, balanced together, swaying in silence as the Harris family shouted and yelled and finally went back inside.

The air was warm and dark under the shelter of the leaves and for ten minutes Buffy stood with a vampire’s arm tightly round her shoulders, her face pressed against a cool black T-shirt, hearing only her heart beating. 

And later that night, she lay in bed and wondered exactly why it had been beating so fast.

tbc


	16. Lust not Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another meeting between Spike and Buffy they did not want you to know about.

Lust not Love

The sunlight hit her face as she walked away from Spike's crypt. She raised her eyes and let it flood into her brain, willing it to burn away all the doubts, the double thinking, all the memories.

"Buffy!" Spike's voice, hoarse, almost unrecognisable - except she knew in her heart that she would hear it amongst thousands - stopped her. She hesitated, forcing her feet to move forward, away from the temptation, the addiction that was this vampire. And failed.

"Why did you call me William?"

She didn't mean to turn round; she didn't even know she had until she was staring at the face that had haunted her dreams for so long. The devastation in his eyes made swift, deep, aching cuts in the shield of righteousness she'd put up around her. “I...I don’t know. Does it matter? Whatever I call you, I’m still using you.”

He stood in the shadow of the doorway; one more step and he, too, would be out in the sunlight. But not for long, of course. For one dreadful moment, Buffy could see the thought cross his mind and knew that once again, Slayer and vampire were locked into the same circle, their minds working as one.

“Using me? What does that mean, for hell’s sake? You have feelings for me. You always have, right from the very beginning. Look me in the face and tell me you don’t!”

A tiny crack formed in her defenses as heat roared through her body. “Feelings? Yes, I have feelings. I’m not like that wretched sex robot you had built. I don’t know why. It’s wrong, it’s always been wrong. I’ve always known that. I’ve tried to forget. Pretended some things never happened. But of course, I knew they had. Then I came back from the dead and - and - I can’t even begin to tell you what that was like. Feeling nothing. Nothing at all! No joy, no hate, no pain. Living every minute of every day, wishing I was somewhere else. But then - then you made me feel alive again and for that I’ll always be grateful - ”

“I don’t want your bloody gratitude! I want you.”

Buffy shut her eyes and swayed slightly, fighting the wrong, treacherous desire to throw herself into his arms that was widening the cracks in her defences as every second passed. “Spike - I am grateful - but don’t you see, can’t you see - that isn’t love. Feelings, lust, desire, none of them is love. They’re all strong, powerful emotions, they consume me - OK - I admit it. There! Is that what you want to hear. That I lust after you. But that’s all it is. You haven’t got a soul. I can’t really love someone who isn’t human. I won’t!”

“Did you love Angel?”

A flare of bright hot anger and the crack widened into a chasm - “Oh, don’t start with the jealous vampire crap! I was young, silly. How can you bring Angel into the argument?”

Spike laughed; a bitter sound that grated across Buffy’s nerves. “Oh it’s an argument now, is it, pet? Well, an argument means two different points of view, listening to all sides, not just telling someone that you’re finished with them because your poxy conscience tells you to.”

“I - do - not - love - you! Is that clear enough?”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

For a long second the two of them stood, glaring at each other. If another beat of time had passed, perhaps they would have burst into laughter, the sense of humour that struck them at the worst of times would have triumphed. But Buffy stepped forward, fist clenched, her defences finally crumbled to nothing, furiously aiming a punch at the vampire’s face. And Spike’s outflung hand caught her wrist and pulled her into his arms. His hands caged her face and his mouth plundered hers as she struggled violently to escape his hold.

Then, with a little moan, all her resistance vanished. This was Spike, this was the very last time she would touch him. She was giving up so much and even as she drove her body against his, tugging at his T shirt, knowing that this was so very wrong, she gloried in the way he made her feel. But even as he entered her and the rough stone floor of the crypt grazed her back, she knew that this angry coupling was out of desperation on this side and selfishness on hers.

They didn’t speak, the groans and screams, growls and gasps echoed around the crypt until at last the two of them fell apart, exhausted. At last Buffy rolled to her feet, and pulled on her clothes. “You see,” she whispered. “Just lust.”

Spike watched her go. He longed to beg, plead, implore, anything to make her see that she was wrong. How could what they had just done be bad? He didn’t understand. For one moment, he thought she’d changed her mind. Why make love with him if she didn’t have real feelings?

As the door to the crypt swung shut with a click that sounded like the final lock to the portals of hell, he muttered, “I can still make you love me, Buffy Summers. I know I can!”

tbc


	17. No Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season Seven, another meeting between Spike and Buffy that they didn't want you to know about.

Never Ever Tell

by Lilachigh

 

Chapter 17

 

The cellars deep beneath the new Sunnydale High School were dark and still, as far as Buffy Summers was concerned, smelt slightly of the roasting flesh from the demon who had once been Richard Wilkins III. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and hoped she wasn’t breathing in demon particles that were still floating in the undisturbed air.

Arms full, she picked her way cautiously through the clutter wondering why all this junk and garbage had gathered here. It was as if everything above ground had been thrust down below the surface; anything the workers wanted to get rid of had been consigned to these meandering corridors. Grimly, she determined to tell Xander to get his builders to clean up after themselves in the future. 

She heard him before she saw him: he was singing quietly to himself, the same little tune over and over again - then he would stop and chide himself for not knowing the next verse, how forgetful he was, what a bad creature he was, why should anyone bother with him, and then the singing started once more.

She knew she didn’t love him: that was a given, because hey, no soul and evil and anyway, he’d attacked her when she’d been too weak to fight back. She pushed to the back of her mind the number of times in the past when she’d hit him, beaten him almost to a pulp and he’d never cried Unfair. That was different. Even when you were invisible and almost forced him to have sex? a pedantic little voice in her brain asked, or what about when you went back, throwing yourself into his arms just after you’d broken up with him? With a little groan she smothered the voice, scared to investigate all that it implied. 

Buffy walked gingerly round a final corner and stopped. Spike was sitting on the floor, staring up at her, his eyes gleaming, lips still moving, but silently now.

“Spike, it's me, Buffy - you OK?”

“OK - PDQ - SWALK - TTFN”

Buffy swallowed hard. “I take it that means no, although I didn’t understand a word you said.”

“The boy mustn’t talk - the boy’s using letters. Carved in his mind. Could carve them on his skin if Buffy would like that. Would you, Buffy? Big red letters, dripping blood letters, deep into the flesh, mark me forever letters.”

A wave of pity washed over her, mixed with a feeling that could have been guilt if she’d let it. This was the Big Bad, the Scourge of all Europe, squatting in a filthy basement, his wits gone and she had no idea why.

“Look, Spike, I brought you this. Remember - it’s yours.”

She held out the bundle she’d been carrying and shook out the black leather duster. A wave of memories cascaded through her brain - he’d been wearing this the very first time she’d seen him outside the Bronze, when her mom had hit him over the head with an axe, and at practically every other important moment and meeting of their odd relationship.

Lifting it, she buried her face in the leather, the smell of tobacco, whisky, blood and Spike searing her brain, making little channels of memory that she knew she could never eradicate.

Buffy had found the duster where he’d left it in Ravello Drive that dreadful evening. She’d taken it upstairs, back into her room because she didn’t want Dawn or Xander to see it. And, if she was honest, at that time she hadn’t wanted to look at it herself. But she hadn’t destroyed it. She should have done - thrown it in the garbage or cut it into ribbons. But instead she’d packed it away at the back of a high shelf and then with all the tragedy of Tara’s death, Willow’s descent into black magic and everything that had happened since, there hadn’t been time to throw it out. But as soon as she’d found Spike living under the High School, she’d known that wasn’t true, that she’d just found it impossible to destroy this last link with the vampire, no matter what he’d done.

Now she knelt in front of him, held out the coat, desperately waiting for him to shrug it on, to change, to be her old Spike again. But he looked at it with an expression that was a mixture of alarm and hate and despair. 

“Nooo! Mustn’t touch! Not mine! Not the boy’s!”

“Yes, Spike, listen to me. This belongs to you. Don’t you remember? Try to remember!” But he refused to look at her and scrabbled backwards, away from the leather, away from her pleading expression.

For a long minute Buffy remained kneeling, unaware that tears were dripping off her face onto the ground. At last she stood up, aching with a weariness that seemed to be inside her, nothing to do with her physical being: she knew she had to get home; she’d wasted enough time down here. 

Folding the coat, she tucked it away, hidden out of sight. At least Spike would know where it was when he wanted it. But as she walked away the singing started again and she found herself brushing more angry tears from her cheeks. It was hard to accept that this poor pathetic creature would never again stride through her world with black leather flying around him.

Behind her, for one golden instance before the darkness descended once more, the vampire’s hand reached out and one finger-tip delicately touched one shining droplet on the floor in front of him, bringing it to his mouth where it fed him better than the blood he craved.

tbc

 

tbc


	18. Just Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Season Seven meeting that no one knows about.

Just Dreaming….

The salt laden breeze stung the cuts and grazes on Buffy’s face but it also washed away some of the tension, some of the dread and lurking fear of failure. She was beginning to have constant little trickles of doubt that the First was too strong for her, that her weakness would end with all her friends dying and it would be her fault.

 Rain clouds were gathering but between them the sky was the darkest blue, spattered with myriads of stars. As she tilted her head and looked up, she realized their light had begun journeying before the first Slayer had been called.  And the light that was leaving them now would arrive - well, she’d be long gone from the world, but would he?

 She watched Spike’s thin strong hands dealing with ropes – he called them sheets which was weird –  ducking her head as the long wooden boom swung over and the little dinghy changed direction. Her gaze slid to his face, pale in the starlight that gleamed in his eyes. He seemed happy, which was odd. He was probably the only person left in Sunnydale who experienced that emotion these days. Spike turned his head and caught her gaze before she could tear it away.  Scared that she'd revealed too much in her expression, she blurted out, “Where did you learn to sail?”

 He shrugged. “No idea, pet.  You pick up all sorts of skills in a century and more of dying and living."

"What sort of skills?"

"Well, let's see....I can ride a horse, play chess - although to be fair, I could do both of those before Dru - well, before!  i can bungee jump in the dark, even dear Rupert would have to admit I make the best cup of tea he's ever tasted and  – hey, Slayer, I can sew. Some cuts and slashes need a few stitches now and again!”  He didn't think it necessary to tell her that he'd learnt that art taking care of Dru's dolls when she'd been sick.

 Buffy tried to think of any skills she‘d picked up recently. Hectoring, organizing, ordering, hoping for victory – yes, but defeating the First was not on the list. Not even on the second page of the list.  
   
 The night sky splintered as the moon suddenly appeared from behind a bank of cloud and bathed the sea with silver. “Time to go home,” she said wearily. “But thank you for this, Spike. I needed the break.”

 He watched the sail flapping gently, then filling again as the breeze caught it. “All that girlish chatter getting to you, Slayer? They never seem to stop! I can see that it would cause you all sorts of problems. I'd like to bite them sometimes.”

 She didn‘t reply.  Jeez, if only it was the noise the Potentials made that caused her nerves to jangle, her blood to sing as it raced through her veins! She wondered what he would say if she told him her problem was sitting inches away from her? That he always had been and always would be.  
   
 “We could always just sail on and on together,” she murmured at last. “Heading out down that pathway of moonlight, over the horizon and away.”

 He turned, startled, and for one wonderful moment the choice was there within their outstretched hands - real, achievable.  Then, in tandem, they smiled and shook their heads: the boom swung over again and the little boat arrowed in towards the sullen Californian shore.


End file.
